First, Aaron came down with a cold. Then, I came down with a cold. While still dealing with the cold, Aaron came down with a stomach virus. Then, that’s right — I came down with the stomach virus. I spent the first few days of this week in the house with a sick kid, and the last few days in the house being sick myself. I’ve seen almost no one besides my husband and the aforementioned sick little boy. At the beginning of the week it was raining and cold. Today, the sun was out and in the brightness, I saw plum blossoms had begun to appear, little stars on bare branches. Daffodils are coming up all over the neighborhood.
How long have I been asleep?
That’s the way it felt, anyway. I seem to be on the mend, finally, after two days of nibbling on crackers, sipping apple juice, watching bad TV, and laying in bed. I cannot remember quite what my plans for this week originally had been. Appointments got canceled, chores went undone, and calls went unreturned. I know I had writing plans, but everything’s gone fuzzy. What was I even working on? I have not set foot in my office since last week, and on my desk are reminders of plans and ideas I had — an ad for a writing contest, a book of essays I’d been considering using as a model for … something, a printout of an old essay I’d thought about reworking. All those ideas look very far away, as if it’s been a month since I considered them. It’s only been a week. A lost week.