It’s wild to think I’ve been home for thirty days now (and a little more, actually). I had hoped to achieve a few things, and I have – the store’s up, if moving slowly, and I’ve gotten a little bit of writing done. Of course this time of year my body goes on virtual lock-down, meaning it’s a challenge to get anything done at all.
Somehow despite being “retired” I have a few bazillion things to do, and they never quite get done. G has turned into Generalissimo Hubby-O, barking orders I ignore more times than not. I DO need to get some things done, no doubt about it. I also know my limits and know if I push them too hard it ends up being one step forward and two steps back. Yes, I know he’s driven by a sense of panic. He’ll get over it once we get some things straightened out.
This has been a week of close to zero accomplishments, on top of everything else. I’ve had the sniffly-sneezy-fever-cough absolutely-miserable ickies all week, enough to park my butt on the sidelines. I thought I’d recovered enough to go out this morning and do yard sales – albeit medicated to the gills. In fact, I thought getting out of the house might do me good. Umm.. well, I went, anyway. I don’t think it did any harm, because I stayed bundled up and sweating in the car. Aside from my own health, I had no desire to share the wealth.
By the end of the short trip, though, I was more than ready for a blanket and a cup of hot tea and some quality time with my bed.
I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with another grueling commute and 40 hours next week.