Trying to take care of myself sure makes my mind work in strange, yet utterly predictable, ways. I have a strong desire to clean and organize the house. It’s a safe desire, because I’m not going to do it. Taking care of myself, you know.
Tired of reading? A little. And feeling a little guilty, and annoyed because I feel guilty. I’m back at work, not full days because I’m taking care of myself. But I woke up before 6 am with visions of work dancing through my head. Phone calls to make! Patients to chase! (Oops, can’t do that yet – taking care of myself)
But life is good – I don’t have strep. (Wretched times for other people are good to cut my own whining short.)