Sunday the weather feels more like a prison than the fatigue does. A lovely shining white prison in the brilliant sun, to be sure, but there's no escaping the feeling of being under house arrest. No way will I defy the minus 20 wind chills to fetch the Sunday paper. No way will I dare to go to the office for the evening shift, either.
Nor will Monica venture out. Her business trip to Tampa canceled by the weather, she takes up her Sunday routine of laundry and making lunches for herself for the upcoming week, with a conference call or two thrown in for good measure. She even gets to take a nap.
As I awaken from my nap, my Monday bridge partner calls to cancel our date. Fine by me. More energy to devote to a Monday evening trip to the office, frigidity and fatigue permitting.
Sunday evening at home is content and alert, settled down in front of the big TV in the living room for a mini-binge watch of Episodes 7 and 8 of the first season of "House of Cards."
Meanwhile, old side effects keep trying to rear their ugly heads. Sinuses flare for an instant or two. The electronic zinging between my ears reappears now and then. And what are those little pains when I put pressure on my left thumb and my left heel? Well, at least there's no nausea or constipation (for now) and for that I'm grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment