At a Standstill

I am not a really physically active person, but I don't seem to like sitting still, either. That's just one of the seemingly conflicting aspects of my personality. Anyway, I've had to stay put more than usual lately, and I'm trying to use my downtime wisely.

I've been sick, with a head cold that will not let me be. My husband, Precious, is trying to teach me that "resting" does not do you much good if you are writing on your laptop, reading your Kindle, and responding to text messages. 

"But I'm in my pajamas," I plead. "And stretched out on the couch." Apparently, Precious and I have different understandings of what it means to heal. A conversation reminiscent of that dust-up about what constitutes "cleaning" the commode. (Was that out loud?)

Just before this last round--two and counting--of stuffy headedness, I was running errands in the downtown area. One wrong turn and I was facing a railroad crossing. Train ahead of me, cars behind me. No. Way. Out. My holding pattern lasted fewer than ten minutes, but it was good for me nonetheless. I was forced to stop. Just as I was getting used to the stillness, it was time to move along.

I'm hopeful that this most recent round of recuperation will help settle me a bit. I will decline invitations to lunch, turn off Pandora, and take my medicine as prescribed. Maybe I'll even learn to listen.