A Day of Newspapers and Klimt.

October 22, 2021

I am sooo lucky. I never get sick. Well, hardly ever. But I did this past week. Please remember that I am no doctor, but I believe I had ‘just a touch’ of something because it seems at work we have been passing around the proverbial ‘bug’.

(Did I mention how fortunate I am?)

I stayed home from work. The day before, nearing the end of my workday, I could feel my head swim. Clarity of thought seemed to take a backseat to constant thoughts of wondering if I would indeed throw-up or pass out. I began to sweat. My coordination declined until I thought it best to begin packing my bags to go home.

I left work on time. (Gasp!) And I hardly ever do that. I just don’t.

I stopped to buy a nice hamburger for supper, grabbed a Diet Coke, then drove home sucking the salt off French Fries.

Once home, I devoured the burger, turned on the football game, then proceeded to sleep for twelve hours. (Again, something I never do). So my first prescription when feeling a bit under the weather is sleep.

Waking up the next morning, my body ached as though I had lifted weights all day. My stomach still churned.

I called work. I would not be in. While I thought about Covid, I did not exhibit any symptoms which I had come to associate with the virus. But in the heat of the moment, I must admit I grew scared that I could be infected.

I drank liquids, grabbed more blankets, then turned on a retro sitcom station. I fell asleep mid morning to the lulling conversations of Mary, Lucy, Dick and Buffy. Off and on, I would awaken, then fall asleep.

Not until early afternoon, did I sit to look out the windows at the day. The trees seemed to flicker with gold and browns. It looked like a Klimt painting.

The Klimt trees

Snuggling further into my mound of woolen blankets, my attention rested in the sunlit leaves. “I have attention! I must be better!” I reasoned. I had to take a photo. And I had to go outside.

I was definitely feeling better.

I brewed weak coffee knowing full well that tea would have been a better choice. But the warmth of coffee and milk, slightly sweetened and slightly spiced with cinnamon, seemed to be appealing.

I wrote, just for a bit. Then I slept again. My dog and cat alternated positions with me on the couch.

My appetite returned early evening along with a reminder of my mother’s advice. It seemed as though I could not get enough of canned chicken noodle soup. The smell seemed to ease any tummy flips and it’s warm, salty taste soothed as well.

I grabbed my weak coffee, one more bowl of soup and another piece of my mother’s advice: the newspaper. I had saved the last Sunday paper. My mother is a staunch believer in keeping updated with the world. She loves her newspapers.

And I always save newspaper reading as an activity for vacations. My recovering sick self promised – no, vowed – that I must change that practice. My new habit is reading a daily paper.

And sleep. No apologies, no regrets.

Okay, and maybe good doses of retro sitcoms, chicken noodle soup, and watching leaves in the sunlight.

Lesson learned (hopefully): Give yourself some good, easy “medicine” while that is all it needs. I count myself incredibly lucky…

Sleep. Fluids. Soup. Sleep. Fluids. Engage your mind…

Klimt and kitty

Much love, Luv.


Published by Stephanie Monka Springborn

Hi. Welcome to my blog, the brick dandelion. I am... just me. Thank you for joining me. Love and Blessings, ~Stephanie

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