There's uncomfortable, and then there is whatever fresh hell is descending upon my nervous system. I am bothered by every noise I hear. Cars driving by grate on me. Doors and footsteps are like percussive strikes. God help me if Saoirse starts barking. Mr S-P is in an online meeting, and his computer was demanding updates to the Teams app, and every forceful, exasperated sigh or exclamation of frustration he made trying to get in had me flinching like I'm in mortal danger. I ought to be in a soundproof room this evening, but I am nowhere near one. This is a loud house, both inside and outside it.
I wildly overslept this morning. I had tossed and turned until after 2 am, so I went back to sleep after first wake, and didn't open my eyes again until 10:20. Oops. Today was my day to set up Rotary, so I had to race through a shower and dressing, only to arrive and find another setup person had beat me to the punch. For all the stress of getting ready, I thought I had managed to put myself together well. My hair cooperated, and I dressed in my best Katharine Hepburn clothes. I thought I'd overcome my challenges sufficiently to be functional for the rest of the day. I came home, ready to start cleaning up for game night tomorrow, and my whole body just threw me into a chair and told me to shut up.
When our daughter was here last week, she arrived with some sort of ick in her respiratory system. Negative covid test, but lots of coughing and other symptoms. She has been gone three days, and now her dad and I are starting to feel and sound yucky on our own. He has coughed his way through his meeting, and I'm chilled and needing silence. I'm inclined to ask "now what," but I've learned better than to tempt fate.
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