The pile of tissues next to me blocked the framed photo of my husband and I. From where I lay all I could see was the gold frame holding fall leaves which haloed the white mound of crumpled up tissues. On my other side my husband slept deeply, his breathing so heavy I wondered if he was catching the same bug I had. It took me a week and a half to feel somewhat normal again. And by normal I mean back to my non stop cleaning and organizing. If I am not being productive I feel like a failure, so being sick is, well, my worst nightmare.
The dishes only got half way to the ceiling, the laundry spilled over the hamper, and the inside of the fridge became the only space that didn’t feel cluttered, its lack of contents making it appear clean and tidy. Because of this I put off going to the grocery store knowing that at least somewhere in my house there lacked cat hair and dirty plates.
Being sick had this affect on me. It caused a craziness that could only be tamed by realizing there was nothing I could do. If I wanted to get better, if I wanted my nose to cease running and my throat to stop screaming in pain, I had to rest. My to-do lists were put out of sight, and I tucked myself into bed early with a quick swallow of medicine to ease my cough and mind.
This forced rest is usually just what I need to gain perspective on my daily goals and habits. Priorities can become painfuly detailed as my lists get longer and longer. But as I lay my head on my pillow and look over at the mound of tissues covering the photo, I remember to just let go.