Sleep, sleep, the magical pill

What kind of idiot goes to a place like this and catches the mother of all colds? This kind!

What kind of idiot goes to a place like this and catches the mother of all colds? This kind!

I came back from Florida (almost three weeks ago) with a spectacularly stubborn cold that's morphed into a very painful lung infection. Kids are sicky, too. Even the dog's been under the weather. It's quite the pity party we're having. (Wanna come? Free germs for all!)

And since taking it easy is not something that's in my repertoire, I do my best to push through. Results vary, depending on the day. But you know. I've got to earn my nickname somehow.

I do, however, sleep as much as I can. I mean, I do that as a general rule. I tried living as though rest was for losers, and for my pains got four burnouts by age 40. I'm marginally less stupid now. I need my 7.5 nightly and I take it, with the occasional niner to round it all up. I tend to sleep well (sick dogs notwithstanding), which could be luck or a direct consequence of the life I lead (kids, lots of exercise, the equivalent of three jobs, plus the kitchen sink). But this week I've taken more naps than usual, and longer ones, too. And you know what? Each one is worth its weight in antibiotics - which I avoid unless absolutely necessary because ew.

If I knew how to write poetry I'd write an ode to naps worthy of Leonard Cohen. But since my efforts look like they come from the heart of my bottom (instead of that better place), I'll stick to dull pedestrian prose.

Yesterday afternoon I had a 40-minute nap that felt as good as the best full-night sleep you care to remember. I woke up from it refreshed, rejuvenated, and significantly (if only temporarily) healed. Earlier this afternoon I had another one that felt about the same. That's why I'm writing now instead of moaning, to the relief of the other members of my pity party.

There is something magical that happens when your body stops fighting and starts snoring. It's like someone had found your secret forced reboot button. And like a phone that suddenly works the way it should after a forced sleep, your body remembers what it's like to feel healthy. It's like a giant inspirational healing pill, that you take lying down with your eyes closed. And best of all, it's free.

That's medicine I'm happy to take.

My talented friend

The cost of looking the other way