I rarely look forward to another day, and a chance to sleep in, as much as I do waking up to the alarm, groggy and sick on a Friday morning, after a restless interrupted night. All I could think about was “tomorrow I get to sleep in”. Hell, I’m still eagerly assuring myself that tomorrow there will be no alarm clock.

I woke during the night choking on a situation that went well beyond “post nasal drip”, sufficient to wake me in a panic, struggling to breathe. I didn’t even bother attempting to go immediately back to sleep; I’ve been waking up just about the same time each night since Sunday, and most of the week, eventually also getting up, having a cup of chamomile tea, and attempting to meditate, usually unsuccessfully, before returning to bed. I can almost hear the creaking and groaning of routines fracturing like ice on a winter pond under the weight of my experience of being sick. I’ve run out of fucks to give, and basic self-care is just about the best I can do this morning.

…I’ve been managing to keep the dishes caught up, though. 😀

Still sick. Definitely not feeling particularly inspired. Willing to begin again… tomorrow, though, okay? 🙂