I am sick as a dog. A funny statement if you consider my dog, four pounds of wide eyed, happy tailed "Now what?" So not sick as THAT dog, but sick as some nameless proverbial creature who was clearly curled at death's door.
My house looks like a hospital and I would know, working in a hospital. It especially looks like one of the rooms with the yellow contact precaution signs, the ones that mean I need gloves, gown, and mask just to enter. Little collections of medical items have sprouted up on end tables and bedside tables. The couch has been converted into a white sheeted gurney.
Everything hurts.
A smart person would recognize that this means staying in and flopping onto that gurney with a box of Puffs Plus and a supply of Halls cough drops within arm's reach.
I, on the other hand, keep adding great ideas to the agenda in my imagination. I could go to the gym. Yes! The gym! How fantastic would that be? And the gym is so close to all the shops, so I might as well pop in here and there and see what they have. I have been thinking about picking up a new foam roller, after all. And then I could find a trail to hike or head out to the beach. Oh, the beach would be AMAZING! I could run-walk and test my readiness for that winter race I'm all signed up for. That's it! I could drive right out to that little barrier island with the nature preserve where I can go for miles. I can already feel the healing tang of the salt water spray on my face...
Imaginary me is going to have a fantastic day!
Real me thinks this is kind of funny.
Real me was exhaused at the thought of putting on lace up shoes.
Real me's plan for exercise today is a shuffle to the kitchen for something healthy and very, very bland, and a shuffle back to bed. Real me will catch up with imaginary me somewhere in a dream.
And it will be AMAZING.