My husband was to be out of town. I was to be in town--celebrating. Not celebrating in the traditional sense, you see. I was going to celebrate the successful completion of my first year of teaching by myself--quietly.
I intended to watch miserable amounts of television and devour book after delicious book perhaps stopping for real sustenance along the way. I would do only the things that struck my fancy and nothing more. I would be still; I would be quiet; I would be proud of what I'd accomplished.
How were my plans derailed, you ask? Sabotage. Sabotage by none other than the vessel that holds my tired and weary new-teacher soul--my very own body.
It all started on Monday(ish)--I can't be certain of the exact date, as I didn't see the attack coming because, quite frankly, I never do. It started with a headache that wouldn't go away, an itchy throat, an achy muscle. You get the drift. By Thursday I was feeling a bit light headed and my throat was no longer itchy, but a deep and painful scratchy. When I got home after a long day I had a fever. I was up all night pleading with the germs, the illness, God, myself, ANYONE to please, please let me sleep. The answer was always, except for an hour or two, a deep, sadistic NO.
By Friday morning when it was time to go to school for the last day of finals, I was a mess. A germy, feverish mess. I had two finals to give. When the last students of the last group left, I packed it all up and went home.
I stopped at Walgreens and loaded up on sinus medication, sleeping pills, potato chips (who knows why?), orange juice, and soup.
I spent the weekend that was to be the glorious end of a glorious year bobbing between sleep and wakefulness, being able to breath and struggling for air.
I should have known my weekend of beauty and reflection and quiet would be ripped from underneath me; after all, this is how I live.
I push and I push and I push and I reach a goal, and then, as if my body and spirit detach from one another and the sprit says KEEP GOING, my body rises up with a tired and spent, but strong and forceful, NO--IT'S TIME TO STOP.
It happened in high school; it got worse in college when I was sick after every single semester. It happened after I got married. I made it to the end of the honeymoon before I crashed, and now it's happened again.
So, my weekend disappeared into oblivion, a sick and nasty oblivion of nose blowing and fitful sleep and pill popping.
I suppose, though, that having a 101.5 fever and being so, so sick is just a way for my body to celebrate its long, faithful hours of success. Because, although it was forced, she finally got her long overdue rest.
I hope your weekend was healthier than mine,
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