A little love

Last Thursday afternoon, I felt a cold enter my body and settle in my head just enough for me to notice its presence. It was subtle, as if it was trying to sneak up on me. I began some offensive maneuvering, but it  took hold of me anyway by Friday afternoon. I spent the weekend feeling spacey and tired from the cold that filled my nose and brain with snot. I was pretty useless all weekend, bored with TV yet not having the energy to do much else but stare at it.

There were moments when I thought, "Great. I'm wasting two whole days because of this cold! I should get up and do something anyway." Yet, I didn't have the energy, so I didn't really do anything but lay around and eat every once in a while. I felt my body tighten at the lack of motion. I'd get up and stretch and move every so often; and then I'd slide back down onto the couch again with a big sigh and drift into the dullness of TV. But I was aware that I really couldn't do much else. I was too stuffy to sleep; too hot to snuggle under blankets; too dopey to read; too tired to go outside; and too numb to care.

I learned that rest was best for me those two days; the body would not have allowed for anything else anyway. So I caved in and allowed myself to do a whole-lot-a-nothin'. Part of me was irritated; part of me was relieved; part of me was really, really bored! And part of me was aware that I had just had a big week energetically, holding more than I have held in a long while. I'm wondering if part of me got "sick" to allow for a break and some rest, or maybe just in rebellion; but I'm not sure. I was fine moving through the week, and even jazzed by the flow and all the energy. It felt good! I was not conscious of a need for more rest than I gave myself, but I have taken note, and am exploring what else may have been linked to the "forced down time." Resistance in getting bigger? Fear? Lack of energetic balance? Or maybe sometimes a cold is just a cold. I'm still dissecting it.

Every so often over the weekend, I'd search around my A Year To Live "room" to see how it felt to basically "skip" two whole days of living, yet I found very little. It seemed just fine to do nothing. I find that odd on one level, and perfectly understandable on another: Odd because my time feels so limited; understandable because I was home with my sweetie, being pampered and loved and lazy... and that felt good. It was nice, despite feeling like dinosaur doo-doo.

Who'd a thought that feeling so bad could still feel so good with a little love on top? Maybe my death will be like that. Even if it's uncomfortable, maybe with a little love on top, it'll feel OK...

©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.