Of course, much to the hatred of my colleagues, I have to drag myself to work because grades are closing, common assessments must be administered, and I cannot take time off before a long weekend (MLK Day on Monday). Like a pariah, I sit away from people at meetings, use the student bathroom so as not to leave germs in the teacher one, and eat lunch by myself at my desk. At the end of each work day, I collapse on the couch and pray for relief as I tear through my third or fourth box of tissues.
At the end of the week, I drive directly home, put laundry into the washing machine, make myself soup, change the laundry over the the dryer, sit on the big comfy chair with a blanket and ... fall fast asleep. Yes, my big Friday evening involves snoring in my living room as soon as the sun sets. I don't feel any better when I wake up, but at least the laundry is done and ready to fold, so something has been accomplished.
I drag myself off to bed after ingesting copious amounts of cold medications and Tylenol, have strange dreams, but manage to piece together another eight-plus hours of sleep. When I awaken on Saturday morning, I should jump up and start my day. Yes, I should get out of bed and do something productive. I ought to run errands or go wine tasting or ... or ...
However, the morning is recovery time, and I intend to savor every moment. Thank you, warm bed, and thank you, fluffy quilts, and thank you to the tissue companies who've kept me sane these last few days. Bless you (quite literally), all.
