The life of a sickie

I have not left my apartment for a week. The first two days, I was functional, just feeling under the weather. But for the past five days, I have been knocked out. It is kind of like being asleep. Well, a lot of the time, I have been asleep, but even when I'm not, it's kind of like being asleep. Like being in a cocoon. Warm, cozy, oblivious to the outside world. Not joyful, not miserable, just asleep.

The past few nights, I'd go to bed early because I was too tired to do anything else, but then find I wasn't sleepy. Last night I went to bed at 7, but it was too early. I tried again at 8, and had no trouble sleeping then. I slept until about 7:40am. After sleeping nearly 12 hours that night, I then napped during the day 11:30-2 or so. I was drifting in and out of sleep during that time, so I wasn't really fully asleep the entire time. With all that sleep, it's not that surprising that I'm still awake now after midnight. It is surprising that I am forming coherent words. I have not done much of that these past five days. Maybe I am getting better.

I have been eating about 1 1/2 - 2 1/2 meals a day. I have not been hungry, and it takes a lot of energy to go all the way to the kitchen. I try to make myself drink water, because I know it's good for me. But mostly I'm not interested in eating or drinking.

My abdominal muscles are sore from all the nose blowing and coughing, but they only hurt when I use them.

I am supposed to take albuterol when my lungs are clogged. I took it once. Going down it irritated my lungs, giving me a coughing fit and causing me to gasp for air. Then after a little while, it had its usual side effect of making my feel shaky.

Friday morning, the last day I was functional, I took a shower and got dressed. I put on my pajamas Friday night, and did not leave them until Monday night, when I took a shower and changed into a different set of pajamas. Now I've been in those for over 48 hours.

Sometimes when I'm awake, I watch TV. Watching the news or watching reality TV reminds me that there are a lot of people out there I want nothing to do with.

I feel guilty about missing work.

There is so much to be done in the world. Beauty to be enjoyed, people to be loved, communities to be nurtured. Every day that I'm here in my cocoon is a lost opportunity to be out there living. But I don't feel too sorry for myself. I remember how other times I've looked upon illness as like being in a monastery. A time for quiet. A time for realizing what is important in life. That's not a waste.