Sick Day

The cats nestle at my feet and there’s a mug of hot lemon squash and honey, my fifth, on the bedside table. The home shopping channels have been on the TV in the background all day and there’s a pile of books on the bed beside me.

The books are of different genres and lengths and today, I spent as much time reading their back covers and flipping through them as I have reading their contents. My brain is caught in a squash game, the ball, my concentration. It flies against the wall of reading and bounces back to the TV, finally settling on the intense activity that requires the utmost dedication and attention, petting the cats.

This is how I spend my time when I’m stuffed full of cold and my nose-breathing is laboured. Sudafed is my friend, productivity,the enemy. I feel guilty because I want to spend each day doing something useful, but I can’t. So I sit then lie against the pillows, then sit up again. Back and forth in a constant effort to get comfortable.

The shopping channel is something I never watch, but today, it’s a comfort. It reminds me of my Mom, who spent her extra money on shiny objects, gold chains and silver earrings, bangles and zirconia rings when I was young. Never looking after herself in terms of wardrobe, but constantly on the lookout for bling, she reminds me when I see her that her jewellery box holds my inheritance. I laugh and tell her I’d rather have her than her hoard. Still, QVC reminds me of her and the times she looked after me when I was ill. Constant boxes of grape juice,orange juice, apple juice and any other fluids she could force down me so that I felt like I was peeing away my fever. Thanks Mom, the lesson stuck and I’m on litre 3 of water and tea.

There’s a faux leather skirt on the home shopping channel. I’m tempted, then look at my open wardrobe that’s bulging. I don’t really have many shined objects, but I can go a year without wearing the same thing twice. I’ve added another “to do” on my list. Clear out, up-cycle, donate…

There’s something both comforting and lonely about being alone under the covers when you’re ill. I feel the need for quiet to allow myself to recover and yet, I wonder what the rest of the world is up to.

What is it you do to feel better when you’re ill? What memories does illness conjure up for you?

Hope you’re feeling fine, happy writing.

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