I worked hard today, finishing one editing job and getting a lot done on another one, then spent an hour or so picking up various kids and taking them various places, and around 4 p.m. I just had a sinking feeling — I'm mentally drained, I've been sneezing and blowing my nose all day, I'm achy, I'm tired. So I blew off zumba and instead took an early bath, watched Tuesday night TV, and cut apart a million flash cards for tomorrow's math assessments.
But! I just got the message that they won't be ready for me tomorrow either! I still have a TON of editing to do, so it's not like I get a free day off, but still — this is great news. I can stay in my jammies and drink tea and gobble Mucinex, and life is a bowl of cherries.
What a weird week this is turning out to be!
I hate missing zumba, though. I always kick myself a million times. Except, just metaphorically, so I can't even count it as exercise.
I hope my energy comes back tomorrow. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
p.s. I'm also really sad. That might have something to do with my low-wattage mood. My lunch with my elderly friend Mrs. Professor last week was kinda intense; her husband is in the hospital with congestive heart failure, and she's beginning to seriously contemplate life without him. Then, a man at church who has Parkinson's, someone I watch closely to get a sense of what the future holds for my mom, up and died. Suddenly. I am reeling from this. And finally, a dear friend in Minnesota just found out that her husband has colon cancer that has spread to his liver. The word "cancer" is bad enough; couple it with "spread," and I am beside myself. He just turned 50 a couple of weeks ago, he is crazy young, and they have a boy almost exactly Martini's age. I can hardly take it all in.