So there I was, sitting in the cell phone waiting lot at Denver International Airport, wrapping up a longish conversation with a good friend of mine who really knows from chronic illness. We had been talking since mid-afternoon, and it was then a little after 7 pm, while I waited for J to come home from a vacation. My friend learned where I was, and she said something about how much I get done even while sick. She was nice and called it impressive. I guess she was too polite to ask, "what the hell is wrong with you??" Once J's plane landed and we were headed home, I mentioned the conversation, and joked that it goes against the family charter not to be in constant motion, even when sick. Maybe especially when sick.
I had no get up and go this morning. I had said I would go to Rotary, but the idea of taking off a mask to eat and exposing a bunch of vulnerable seniors to the virus at the heart of my current woes gave me pause. Plus, I knew there was no way I could avoid coughing fits during the meeting and guest speaker, and would have to leave anyway. So I called it and stayed home.
I should have just sat around and waited for the Zithromax to get a foothold, but I got squirmy. I moved some stuff around and painted the last little bit of my room. I had to take a lot of sit-down breaks, but I finished it. I needed to wait for it to dry before putting the outlet cover back on and moving furniture in front of it, and that is kind of the point my mind splintered. I thought, I'll just wash some dishes without wearing gloves, to wash off the paint on my hands. Oh, but if I'm going that way, I should start a load of laundry. I can sweep the floor a little and oh, hey, I'll just use wood cleaner on the antique bench and throw away some of the trash from the painting job and, and, and... So even though I rested a lot in between things, I was moving in a hundred different directions at once, only making incremental progress on any one thing.
I showered and washed my hair, and that got the last of the paint off me (I was very messy today). I still needed to wait for the paint a little longer, so I went to acquire something that has been an obsession for months. I had wanted to get a share of oxalis that I had planted at my mom's place many years ago, but they all had too much going on to dig any up and send it to me. I knew it was available now, and because we are trying to teach Valerie about St Patrick's day, I couldn't keep myself away from it any longer. I went and got a small pot of purple oxalis. I was holding the green kind too (better known as shamrocks), and really wanted both. It was hard, but I put the second one down, and just came home with purple. Valerie has a new Sesame Street book about St Patrick's day, and I plan on bringing her here tomorrow and having a little show and tell. I hope she likes it.
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