Knocked Down

The last time I posted (yesterday? the day before? what the hell day is it?) I was making light of the fact that for the last week or two the level of physical exhaustion I’ve been feeling is pretty much incapacitating. I’ve actually been blaming this on adding farm chores to my daily routine coupled with lack of sleep, but as it turns out I should have been blaming it on The Plague.

I assume that’s what I’ve contracted… a cute little virus that has curled up in my left lung like a kitten that 1.) will not be dislodged by any degree of strenuous coughing, and 2.) occasionally stands up and uses the inside of my esophagus as a scratching post. I’ve named him Plague.

All of the sudden this week my body is like, “Lung-kitten? Oh, wait, I totally know how to handle this shit… FEVER!” Which means I’ve been lucid for maybe four of the last seventy-two hours.

I’d been wondering how I would handle farm-chores if I ever got debilitatingly sick, and what I realized pretty quickly over the last few days is that “miserable” is not the same as “impossible.” Does it suck to haul the sweaty, feverish, hacking puddle of phlegm disguised as my body out of bed twice a day and out to the barn? Yes. But it’s 120 steps of misery– there and back– and then it’s done and I can go back to hiding under the covers.

Even though I’ve got plenty of friends and family who would come out to the farm to help me at the drop of a hat, it is so very important to me to know what I’m capable of doing without help. To know that a little physical discomfort won’t stop me from taking care of the things that need to be done. Each one of these trials proves to me that, yes, it’s a little crazy to be taking care of this big old house and my growing farm all by myself, but it’s possible.

I’m not at all grateful for the Plague, but I can feel a little gratitude for the lessons it is teaching me.

And now I’m going to go bury myself under the covers again until the next round of farm chores need to be done…

PS – I’ve turned comments off because my phone will buzz a bazillion times when I get emails that you’ve posted something, and it disturbs my coma. I’m just going to pretend you’re all wishing me a speedy recovery and I’ll be back once I’ve kicked this fever and can stay awake for more than 20 minutes at a time.

I'm not interested in a mediocre life. I'm here to kick ass or die.