She laughed and she said “sorry you can’t work out.”
Working out is one thing. I can barely walk to the kitchen without feeling light headed and nauseous. I’ve mustered less than 500 steps combined all week. Even trying to read a book has proven to be too much energy. So I just sit on the couch and watch The Crown.
I’m helpless. I’m weak.
My body is the frailest it has ever been in my adult life. This week alone equates to the same number of times I’ve been sick in the past decade. Probably the same amount of physical illness I’ve experienced also.
I’m not used to my body being out of whack. If there’s one thing I can control, it’s what my body is doing. Being able to do what I want to do and when I want to do it. Being able to move about and leave the house. To just do things.
And this week I haven’t done anything- nothing at all.
God did not design me to sit still. That’s why I’m a preschool teacher. That’s why my career is to run around for a living. That’s also why I have two other jobs. Because I can’t just stay at home and do nothing. I go stir crazy after just a couple hours.
But this week has been more than just a couple hours. It’s been days and days of staying at home. Stuck at home really. Because if it were up to me I’d leave. But both for my recovery- and the fact that I can hardly stand up- I can’t leave.
So I am imprisoned in my own home and in my own body. Unable to do the things that keep my world running. Unable to do the things that make my body feel strong.
I feel useless in countless ways.
But maybe this is the rest God is commanding from my body. The chance to slow down and relax before a season of madness ensues. Maybe this is Him giving me a chance to enjoy my apartment before I inevitably move out in a couple months. One last chance to nap on the couch, watch tv, or be woken up by Randy the Rooster before I say goodbye to 2210. Or maybe this is just the result of me not wearing my mask on an 11-hour flight.
Hopefully it’ll all be over soon.