Cabin fever is at an all-time high around here. Maybe we have no excuse, since we just went on vacation, but it takes more than one week in SC to make you not notice that the windchill is -1 outside. It doesn't help that I was sick for a day and a half -- and I do mean sick. In bed. Kids running the house.
Mom being sick around here is harder on them than it is on me. (Well, maybe.) People get crabby, people fight, people get depressed, husbands start to wonder if he's going to lose you ... (36 hours!!!) It's a good exercise, I guess. Lying in bed motionless, aching in every cell makes you appreciate you ability to do housework (which is always a mood-lifter for me, strangely). It makes your kids appreciate your presence -- even if you're crabby, it's better than "not there." And your husband tells you over and over again how great it is to have you back, and not just for the work aspect. He's very sad without me ... is it wrong that I think that's just great? :-)
Today I am back to my old self, except now there's a serious cramp in my neck from lying abed for too long. I know you don't care about that, but it's keeping me from thinking of anything else to write! My neck hurts, my neck hurts, my neck hurts ... isn't that what you're supposed to do when you have writer's block? OK, ok ... I'll end your misery. I have stuff to do anyway. Just wanted to stop in so you don't stop stopping in.
Oh, and in case you're wondering ... yes, the end of Julia's poem was about death but she wasn't in a suicidal mood. :-) She handed it to me quite cheerfully and proud. It's just that she's really got a poet's soul. She was lying in bed with her face buried in a pillow, and noticed that her breath got very hot ... which led to the cool breaths, which led to a diversion into the different roles of breath, including the breaths of a dying person. She's deep, but she's not macabre. Thanks for the compliments.