If I were feeling particularly whiny I would complain that it's not fair to have a headache, sore throat, tummy ache and tired body all at one time.
Then I think about Elsa and pretty much get over my pathetic attempt at self-pity and the garnering of other people's pity.
The bummer is I really wanted to go to church today--it's the last Sunday of Lent before Palm Sunday and every Sunday these days is a countdown to the unknown. I got mostly ready, but finally conceded that there was no way I was going to make it through a whole service, even though they're only about an hour and fifteen minutes or less. I kept reminding myself of the last time I forced myself to go to church when I felt a cold or flu coming on, and how noisily miserable I felt and how I declined during that time in which Justin says I should have been resting and gathering strength to face the week.
Of course, I was teaching then, and also a little nuts about doing EVERYTHING anyone could possibly expect of me.
So here I am, lying in bed with the e-version of the New York Times, a gallon of water, a plain croissant and Naked Juice--all of which Justin was kind enough to get from Henry's after he happily changed out of his slacks and collared shirt into shorts and his UCSD Rugby Championships T-shirt. I think he's alternating between work, studying and computer games in the office--luxuriating in a Sunday that only requires him to attend soccer practice.
I have to admit I feel a pang of guilt at reading the newspaper online, but we can't afford to subscribe to any publications right now, and I still crave the stories. I posted a bunch of them on my facebook profile, which was like a little hit of a teachable moment... ah... good.
The worst admission I must make as a hardcore defender of Publications on Paper, is that I enjoyed cruising through the paper without having to move very much. Granted, I couldn't turn on my side and cuddle up with the neatly folded story, but I also didn't have to search around for the jump page, I just pushed NEXT. I still can't decide how I feel about not having newsprint on my fingers or the perfume of paper and ink in the room, but at least I got to read my stories.
I feel like a traitor to the cause. Like I am secretly seeing the screen on the side, shhhh! don't tell the print version!
Meanwhile I continually adjust my layers: tank top, add long sleeve shirt, add zipper-front sweatshirt, add heating pad, add flannel sheets, add feather duvet. Subtract as needed.
Then I think about Elsa and wonder what she's doing today. I bet she had to stay in the hospital for quite some time--I mean, being in fourth grade and having major heart surgery and all. Plus, it sounded like last time she had a major heart surgery (she's had numerous "minor" ones--though I'm pretty sure her mother considers every time a doctor comes near her heart a major event) she was there long enough for her uncle to meet her nurse and for them to realize they liked each other enough to start dating (remember, they're married now--because of Elsa's big, strong, magical heart).
So, I just have a bit of a cold. It gives me a relatively valid excuse to take it down a couple of notches (not that I wasn't already pretty far down on the scale already) and stay still(ish) today.
It's not such a bad thing.