On being sick and priorities.

In the throes of what feels like someone filling my sinuses with the interior of a cantaloupe (or musk melon, if you must be technical) and a cough that seems to want to rip my lungs out with the vigor of a Londonite werewolf, it's interesting to see where my priorities lie. You know, which things I keep doing, and which things I simply run out of fucks to give over.

Personal hygiene goes right out the window, apparently, with the notable exception of work. For work, I'm showered and clean, with a heightened awareness of where my hands are at any time. Handwashing goes up 100-150%, even from my usual compulsive behavior.

Writing can go fuck itself. I'm actually backdating this one because yesterday I remembered that I had to blog that day and actively said "Fuck it.". I feel bad for the folks I'm holding up in my FFRPG, but not nearly bad enough to sit in front of a computer and write.

Cooking can suck it, too. I've got pounds of fresh organic vegetables in my crisper drawers that are begging to be consumed, and I can't be fucking bothered to even apologize to them every time I open the fridge to pull out the pot of black beans I made just before I got sick or the BLT I picked up on the way home today. I'm just going to have to cross my fingers and hope they're still viable in a couple of days.

Don't even get me started on dishes or laundry. I know I haven't.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, really. In times of limited resources (in this case, energy and motivation), we are creatures of necessity. We hunker down and do what we're capable of with the resources we have.

For me, that means lying on the couch and groaning while Zevran insistently drops a wadded-up paper towel in front of me so he can play fetch. So if you'll pardon me.