Being Sick in Bed

Here I am, tucked up in my bed with a glass of water by my side, vicks on my nose, and a vaporizer steaming near by. I have a cold. A bad one. For a week I've been sniffling and coughing in various degrees. At first I was tough and just kept going. Then I stayed home for a couple of days, but got dressed and graded papers, that sort of thing. Today I am just staying in bed. I want this to be over.

Also, I can't talk. Do you know how hard this is for someone like me? I have to think before I speak, weighing the utility of each painful syllable. Normally, I just burble along, spouting words until my meaning is clear. It is also hard to speak in a pitiful little squeak when the person who mostly listens to you is partially deaf. The other day, I painfully explained something to Paul only to realize he didn't even know I was speaking.

So today I am in bed getting better, gosh darn it! Germs, you are on notice. I want you packed up and moved out within 24 hours. Or else.

This minute, little Eden is celebrating her 4th birthday party with a Dora the Explorer party organized by her good parents and big brother. Paul is there, with newly-arrived-from-Texas Mary. The party-goers will be called upon to rescue baby bears, and I'm sure the rescue will be successful. Wish I were there!

Instead I am here in bed, surrounded by newspapers, magazines, books, and of course this lap top. This is what I do: I pick up a section of newspaper, scan headlines for something that is not heavy reading (examples: Chicken in a Pot; The Resort Wear Season;The English Kitchen as the Heart of the Home; and Sarah Palin: the machine we're feeding.) Then I read, laying back on my pillow, moving my arms as little as possible, for maybe 10 minutes. Then my arms lower, my eyes close, and I rest.

It's nice.

Hmmm. Time for a nap.