For Christmas, I had the stomach flu. For the new year, I decided I'd kick it off with a cold. WTF, kids? I haven't had this many illnesses in a row since my children were in preschool. Oh, wait. We now have a houseful o' peeps and that means a revolving door of germs. My body, it liketh the germs. Blech.
Thank the almighty for that pretty green fluid and its accompanying shot glass. I judge the length of a cold by the NyQuil bottle. By the time it's empty, I should be all better. So far, it's only failed me like once.
The bummer is timing.
Being sick is never appropriately timed.
I wanted to do more things with the boyfriend's parents during their last few days with us. We've been having so much fun exploring and hanging out.
I wanted to not be stuck in my room in quarantine feeling like ass on toast.
I wanted to be 100% for my photography class.
I wanted, I wanted, I wanted . . .
You'd think I would learn by now that life rarely works out the way we want, but more often works out the way it is supposed to go if we're just willing to ride the tide.
Instead, I've been getting paperwork in order for important life goals. I've been figuring out some long-term things that need to be done in order to make sure my family has what we need where we need it—big stuff, but it feels less fun that what I'd like to be doing.
I can work on my class when I'm ready–it will wait, and I'm excited to dive in when I'm feeling better.
I have wonderful people in my life who make sure the world doesn't stop when I am feeling broken, people who remind me that it's okay for me to get better, and for that I am incredibly thankful and blessed.