This weekend did not go as planned. I had one of those amazing “adult” weekends planned. No, not that kind of adult. The rare kind that involves having precisely no plans – other than a long over-due gargantuan to-do list. But none of those pesky social obligations to hinder my determination. I had lists, I had a plan, in my mind, I was going to get. shit. done. My mind is pretty pushy about being in charge and my body is generally ok just going along for the ride. Which is unfortunate because my mind can rarely get its shit together. If there was a physical manifestation of the way my mind works, it would probably look something like Elaine dancing on Seinfeld. But I was ready.
I went to bed Friday night with the lingering remnants of a cold I’ve been fighting all week and woke up Saturday morning with a chainmail blanket draped squarely over my soul. I wasn’t sick, per se, but I could barely move. I dragged my determined ass out of bed to feed the dog (lest I be eaten alive in my compromised state), and immediately fell back into bed, promising myself just a little more rest…then I’d conquer the world one errand at a time. I woke up 4 hours later with a splitting headache and clear evidence that something alien had died in my mouth. Either that or I’d taken a decade worth of quaaludes and lived to tell the tale. At that moment it really could have been anything. While I was slowly coming to grips with the fact that I was not, in fact, going to be hyper productive, I was not coming to grips with wtf was going on. I texted a friend who responded with, “Oh yeah, been there. Your body is pissed. Hydrate, try to have some food and caffeine to get rid of the headache and go back to bed for as long as you need. Then text me and let me know you’re alive.” I’m not sure I could have argued with her if I wanted to, so I went back to sleep, waking another 4 hours later to feed my dog (again. My subconscious has priorities and survival skills).
Even my 95 lb creature, who would normally be bouncing around the room like a Jack Russell on a sugar high the second I showed signs of life seemed to understand. And the sweet soul that he is, he slept by my side all day and all night, not once waking me even when his dinner was 45 minutes delayed due to my comatose state.
Today was moderately better. I slept more than any adult should on a given day, but also managed a shower, some reading, and a walk with my most deserving guardian beastie. Hopefully by tomorrow morning my body will be willing to cede it’s martial law-like grip on my existence and allow me to go to work and function like the somewhat productive human I am capable of being. Thankfully it’s Monday morning (after some pretty important sportsball games, so I’m told), so most people won’t notice if I’m a bit more off than normal.
The moral of this PSA-style post is to listen to your body before it up and stages a coups because when it does, you will lose. My errands are not run, my bills are not paid, my office is not organized, and a trench is not dug across my back yard (I told you it was an ambitious list). But I started a new book, got some obviously much needed rest, and had some quality time with my fur ball. The world probably won’t stop spinning and your pets probably won’t eat you while you sleep (though I’m not an expert in the field of gravitational forces or pet behavior, so I make no guarantees). And you might even feel better for it.
Happy Sunday night, friends. Get some rest. Or else.
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