Home for the day, sick.

I had a great opportunity to scrutinize every nuance of my 70 facebook friends' comments today and I paid my bills online and applied for a grant and applied for acceptance to a Masters of Education program and found out how Prudie thinks women should deal with men who blame everything on menstruation, because I had nothing better to do on a Monday than sit in front of the monitor and bounce from one website to another. I couldn't talk on the phone, because my voice comes out like a two-toned robot doing a Janis Joplin impression. I couldn't read--too sleepy to concentrate, and I hate to re-read material. I couldn't watch TV because I only watch TV with my daughter, and she was involved in her internship at school before going to a birthday celebration at the Nerd House where most of her friends live. I couldn't enjoy the company of my doggies, because they were solidly in idiot mode, vying for the coveted spot on the filthy loveseat beside me and willing to scratch me to death to maintain their position. I couldn't make toast because we had no butter. You're beginning to get my drift here, right?

Sick days used to please me a great deal. I slept in, read books, sipped 7-Up, wrote letters, and ate chocolate, a well-known cure for anything that ails ye. Today, I was restless, worried about how to make up the lost wages, worried that my kids at the Center missed me, annoyed that I wasn't getting my closet cleaned out or even vacuuming up dog hairs from my threadbare Persian carpet. I forgot how to relax and be sick!

Well, tomorrow I have another opportunity to restore my soul with books, flat soda, emails, and (maybe, we'll see) chocolate, because I am staying home again. This is unheard of in my recent employment history. I tend to work until I'm falling down blind and sweaty, but you know what? It's time to admit that I am actually sick and in need of a rest. Book recommendations, anyone?