It seems sensible to stay home, keep warm, and not spread this dastardly cold one inch further than I already have by going to work for the past four days.
I hated to do it. I'm the first one to preach that when you're sick you should stay home, for the sake of other people if not for your own healing, and to hell with everything but resting. Your health is more important than any of it.
But I understand why people go to work when they're sick. It's not so much that they need the money — at least in my case right now, it isn't — but that they're very likely part of a team and they don't want to let others down. They want to get the job done, dammit! Then they will rest.
Last night I arrived home feeling not too bad, considering the state of me in the morning. Oh sure I had some ugly coughing fits during the day, but could think straight, at least. I actually felt well enough when walking in here about 7 o'clock to tackle the dishes that were overflowing on the counter. And then I stayed up till midnight, and was still wide awake at 3:30 a.m. after lying abed for hours in the dark! Weird. Maybe too many hours of sleep the night before?
I will never understand the reasons this body does what it does. I'm just thankful it only gets migraines, cold sores, the occasional bizarre uncalled-for (as far as I'm concerned) back injury and the rare head/chest cold. Many would be glad to trade places with me if that was all they had to live with. So I count myself fortunate — at least, on the many good days. And most of them are.
So today, I rest.
There are still some dishes to do, and I've run hot water into the sink with some soap and am letting them soak. And if I get around to them, good. I like a clean kitchen. But if not, C'est la vie. They'll be there tomorrow, as the saying goes.