I’m not well. Started on friday, continued though the weekend, lessening up now. don’t panic overmuch, it’s just a cold. A cough, spluttery, sneezy, aching one. But apart from the physical pain of coughing so much – my chest feels run over by a tank – and the sense that my head is full of mucus, I’ve been quite enjoying it.
My usual approach to a cold is to ignore it and pretend it’s not happening. To take vast quantities of cold meds and carry on as normal until I collapse at the end of the day feeling sorry for myself. Luckily, with this descending at a weekend, I could try a different approach.
My response this time has mainly been to lie on the sofa, wrapped in blankets, watching old films and letting my partner and kids do the work. When I felt up to it I might take on a small task – filling the washing machine, lets say, or putting the chicken in the oven. Once I even managed to take to dog out – downhill only though. Small things, but huge events this weekend.
What was great was giving myself permission to be ill.
- The list of things to do didn’t matter – no way I could focus enough to read it, let alone tick anything off.
- The performance I was booked to see Saturday night didn’t matter – no way I could get there so I just had to let it go.
- Getting the kids tea sorted didn’t matter – they are old enough to cook for me now if I need them too.
Sometimes, its nice to just stop. To hand over the reins. To sink into the sofa and just rest up.