The flowers winced this morning at experiencing their first frost. Only a light dusting, but a taste of things to come. Awoke to the old familiar sound of next door trying to de-ice their windscreen. Lay there for a while but then dragged self out of bed in spite of cold, half an hour before the alarm, as I could not breathe. Apparently yesterday’s evenings sniffling and scratching was not all down to the extensive dusting I’d been doing earlier.
Felt rubbish. So weak and pathetic that I burst into tears of relief at the prospect of Turning The Heating On. Am now sitting in bed fully clothed (several layers) plus hat. There’s a mirror on the wall opposite and every now and then I catch sight of a deranged woman with a red nose wearing a pink hat.
Usually I carry on regardless of colds (although I don’t often catch them) but I am going to see a friend next week and want to give my body the best chance to conquer the germs as soon as possible. Plus, being a writer means I can work while still being snuggled up – and will probably get more done in that capacity as I don’t feel up to doing any more housework today. Yes, that ironing pile will have to wait. I did a huge amount of ironing last week but made the mistake of washing things too – hence, more ironing. Tsk.
Have that odd quietness of mind that I get when I give myself permission to rest up. When I’m ill (with something other than CFS), expectations get annulled, and thus my brain declutters. Yes I feel yucky but some of my most tender experiences of God’s presence with me have occurred when I’m unable to do anything – finally open to simply ‘being’. I remember one moment where I experienced such a sense of God that I weepingly thanked him for my illness, which sounds odd, but at the time I felt parched – desperately needing his reassurance, and when it came I was grateful to whatever circumstance had led me to that place.
So I will try and rest today – resting with intention.
And a pink hat.