Well, after having spent only 1/3 or so the last month at work, we've all just given in and put me on bed rest. Bed rest as in, I stay at home and move from couch to couch--I don't have to stay in bed, thank God.
I'm wondering why I'm not happier with this situation. I'm certainly happy about not having to struggle every day to see whether I can make it to work--that was stressful and hard. But I'm less happy than I would have thought I would be to have hours and hours of tv watching and time to myself.
It's not the loneliness so much--I love being by myself. I spent a whole summer sitting alone at my parents house every day and was a very happy clam indeed. But I did stuff every day--I played loud music, I made complicated meals, I baked, I biked, I sat out in the sun, I did indeed watch tv but less than you might think.
It's hard to enjoy yourself when you feel sick and tired all the time.
But--it is much better than the alternative, and I'm doing fine. I put back on a pound (!) of the weight I lost, so all this lying around is clearly effective and useful. I do fear that the blog will suffer though--I'll have plenty of time to write, but what is there to say? "Today I got up and had a smoothie. Most of it stayed down. I read. I took a nap. I pet the cat. I had another smoothie." I'll try and think deep and inventive and entertaining thoughts, but I don't hold out much hope for success. My brain feels mushy.