Cheerios on my back

Years ago (decades, actually) my husband and I both had mono, one after the other, while our kids were too small to take care of themselves. I vividly recall lying on the sofa and hearing vague rustling sounds suggestive of a small child messing around in the pantry.  Somewhere in a small corner of my brain I knew I ought to get up and explore the situation, but walking across the room seemed like too much work, so I stayed on the sofa with my eyes shut. And that's where I was when my helpful daughter climbed on my back and dumped an entire box of Cheerios all over me.

No Cheeri0s have been dumped on my back in the past week but I still have that can't-quite-get-up-and-do-what-needs-to-be-done feeling. I made it through my classes last week and may have even led my students toward new understanding, but I finished every class drenched in sweat and ready for a nap.

I went home Friday afternoon ready to quit speaking forever (because I lose my voice by the end of class even if I'm not doing all the talking) but then made some wonderful sweet potato bisque, my helpful daughter's recipe and much better than Cheerios on my back. Spent most of the weekend resting, reading, not much cleaning, and now I feel almost sort of semi-normal. Still coughing occasionally. Still sounding a little rough and raw. Still lacking stamina, but yesterday I managed a long walk in the gorgeous sunshine with the sweet hubby and the dog, so we seem to be approaching normality.

I hate the way sickness turns me in on myself, as if the only thing that matters in the entire world is whether I manage to take this next breath. But seriously? Breathing is important, and when I can't do it, I get a little alarmed. Now that it's coming more naturally I can forget about breathing and focus my attention on other things, like--well, like the whole big wide world out there. Hello, big wide world! I'm back! Without Cheerios!