So, I woke at four or so this morning with the feeling that I'd had a fever break: soaked with sweat (and I don't sweat), and feeling like I was roasting alive under the covers. And when I got up with the kids, I felt worlds better than I had Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. No longer sorer than shit, but with no energy or strength.
Yesterday, despite being sick, I managed to run the dishwasher three times after Odysseus had unclogged the drain--again--and put a chicken in the crock pot. Today, I worked on the last load of stuff (including said crock pot), and managed a couple of loads of laundry.
I think, had I not pushed with the dishes and the chicken yesterday, or the laundry today, I might not have spent the day feeling like a week old kitten: weak and wobbly.
And, had I not spent so much time doing what I should have been doing, I could have gotten a lot more written than I did.
Well, I suppose it's all part of being an adult.
At least I've got pretty much four free hours tomorrow--both classes are pretty much done, except for the whole writing the actual last paper part. So class time plus office hours equals a good solid chunk of writing time.
11 minutes ago