I hate not doing stuff

I was sick this weekend. Like, really sick. I remember Friday as a series of painful, dizzy coughing fits during which the light in the window changed to indicate the passage of time. Saturday I was coherent and able to eat (some), but still pretty much bedridden. Sunday I was bed-and-couch-ridden. During this time, I got nothing done. Like, nothing. Didn't blog, didn't work on stories, didn't read, didn't even watch TV. I struggled to keep up with my Tumblr feed. I did nothing.

And I hated it. Those three days felt wasted, like a chunk of the valuable time in my winter break had been gouged away. (By the way, I also missed two shifts of work, meaning about $300.)

But today, at work, things went so much faster than they had been for weeks prior. I had been pretty burnt out, and I knew it. This illness had at least that positive side-effect -- it forced me to take a few days to recover. Things came back together differently, and working is easier.

I'm still pretty sick, though. I left work early after almost throwing up when I tried to eat a cracker.