It occurred to me that there are levels of illness that I tend to measure thusly:
Level One, disregard it, do the whole day's activities as planned, feel tired at the end
Level Two, try to disregard it, but find a need to sit down abruptly every now and then and wait for the feeling to pass
Level Three, cancel outside commitments, able to make it to the mailbox, a 150 yard round trip for me, and maybe do a load of laundry, feed the cats, eat a bit
Level Four none of the above possible, with the exception of staggering downstairs to feed the cats.
Level Five call in reinforcements to make me tea and feed the cats.
This week has been largely passed at Level Four then Three, and I'm hoping that I will be reacquainted with food quite soon, and get away from various medications, and claw back my usual energy.
However, none of that stops me from reading, a great way to enter a world where current ailments lose their importance. And I've found, amazingly, that some of the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary, never heard of her before this week, not knowing anything about kidlit, have had a lovely antidotal effect. Well written, astute and with interesting characters. Great illustrations. Also short enough to read before I fall asleep again.
And I'm in the middle of Agatha Christie's autobiography, much more interesting than I expected, since she jumps about, giving interesting anecdotes rather than a long chronology of name dropping, which bios often fall into.
Then I've watched a few episodes of A Bit of Fry and Laurie, very funny, bit hard to follow if you aren't up to all the details of current UK politics. Watching YouTube on a tablet is a bit like following an animated postage stamp, but worked fine.
I did get one thing done last evening, finished the embroidery frame I was building with pvc pipe until I had to stop for parts to arrive. And here, to show I'm still on the planet, it is
If you want to know more about this project, and see links to the plans and so on, go here