I did it…
C.E. Grundler
No, not finish the deck. Yet, at least.
Yeah, everything was moving along full steam. I was writing each morning, at least double to triple my personal ‘you must write this much’ quota, squeezed into every possible moment I wasn’t either working feverishly on the boat or giving the house some much needed attention, all in the midst of blistering temperatures and obscene humidity. I was so pleased with the headway I was making. Like planning a heist, each step had to fall precisely into place for the next to follow — that ‘next’ being that final glassing. It was all about timing. And according to the weather, the no-longer upcoming 4th of July weekend promised 3 glorious days of cool, low humidity days. Perfect.
I guess it was inevitable. My daughter had been away for a week, camping at a music festival. She returned happy, tired, with a bit of a sniffle and a sore throat. No biggie… unless, that is, you’re not in your twenties anymore and you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Those little sniffles might as well have been the Black Plague. I spent the last week with a stuffy, foggy head, hacking cough, aching bones and muscles, and overwhelming exhaustion that’s left me sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, the majority of the day trying. I’ve never had a summer cold level me to this extent, and I’m only starting to feel better today. Considering how I’m feeling at the moment, that’s not saying much.
I know once I post this a certain few people will be emailing or calling, asking why I didn’t go to the doctor, (I thought it was just a minor bug and would pass in 24 hours, and once that clearly wasn’t the case I was too cranky to be dragged anywhere,) and how I should know better. I can hear the lectures already because I’ve heard them countless times over the years. I know they come from concern, mean well, and yes, I know I should take it easier. Pushing myself to get everything done resulted in a week of NOTHING getting done. No real writing to speak of, and no fiberglass work. I may or may not have caught up on some reading, if repeatedly falling asleep mid-page counts, and I’ve slept through a dozen heist movies — or the same movie, looped a dozen times.
I get it. Really. I do. The lectures won’t be required anymore. I’m not a kid anymore, and like it or not, I don’t bounce back like I used to. No more burning at both ends. I want to see the next book finished and the boat done, but then I recall what happened to Jim Henson. And I’m bookmarking this post as a cautionary warning for the next time I catch myself in overdrive.
On that note, I’m going to sleep now. Again.
Oh, and I’m dragging my own @ss to the doctor later.
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