It struck fast, when it did. I went to bed after what I assumed was a coughing fit brought on by the temperature changes (it happens sometimes; my asthmatic lungs are fickle) and woke up with chills and body aches.
It’s been a rough few weeks around here. We have all been hit hard with the flu. And, in the vein of “when it rains, it pours”, we have been having some family stresses, centered around my grandparents. I want to write about this, but I’m honestly not sure how to start, and I’m not sure it should be written immediately, when things are fresh and painful.
So, writing has taken a backseat this last month. In truth, I have been too weak to even string coherent thoughts together. The worst part was having a solid five days off work, but being too dizzy and bleary-eyed to even focus on reading. My days consisted of sleep, soup broth, a raw throat, Netflix, and more sleep.
I was kind to myself and told my body it needed to rest; I was proud of it for being strong and fighting back. The other part of me, however, couldn’t help thinking of all I could have done with that time off, if I had been well.
Anyway. I am feeling more myself now. I knocked out a few books, I can get through the day without coughing as much, and my brain is back to its normal weird, instead of flu weird.