The Agony of Defeat

That's what it felt like this morning when I sent off an email at 6:30 am saying I wouldn't be coming into work because I was sick.  I've been cursing pollen and allergies for the past 3 days now, depriving me of my sense of smell, the ability to taste, the seemingly simple task of being in a quiet room and not coughing so profusely that it makes everyone else uncomfortable, sleep, and more.  This morning I chose to stop ignoring it and let it win.  I'd stay home, try to rest, and try to get better instead of continuing to fight through it like the stubborn mule that I am.

But it feels like I've been defeated.  Like I should be able to push through for one more day to finally turn that corner.  Like if I'd only stuffed just a little more saline up my nose, it'd break everything up, and I could get back to the business of getting everything done.  And just maybe, if I'd taken the time to take care of myself that first day, I'd feel fine right now and wouldn't have put myself through being miserable for 3 days before I slowed myself down enough to really fix it.

The entire day I've struggled to lounge around and do nothing.  I was able to take a short nap this morning, but it didn't last long.  I started cleaning until dusting induced a sneezing fit.  I looked into my closet and kept thinking it'd be a great time to tear everything out and reorganize it to minimize junk.  Don't even get me started on how badly I want to rearrange things in my daughter's room to make it all look just a little bit better.  What the hell is wrong with me?

Clearly, that question goes far beyond this one piece of my flawed yet endearing persona.  But I am genuinely beginning to wonder why I can't let myself unwind... ever.  Everything has some end goal in mind.  Everything is a step to completing something else.  Everything needs to be some sort of accomplishment and anything that doesn't fit into that little frame is just stuff in the way.

Common sense would tell you that taking a break to rest when you're sick is the smart thing to do.  In my twisted little brain, it's an inconvenience; an irritant that needs to be ignored so I can keep getting things done.  Even now, I'm sitting here writing instead of being sensible by trying to get more sleep.  Someone, seriously, stop me.  I'm completely out of control.