As I've observed before, my body (under the always unpredictable guidance of my mind) seems to "get sick" on my days off – it seems to be a way that I have of convalescing from my cancer treatment while at the same time maximizing my ability to work. It's as if I have these rigid controls, but on days off I let go of the controls and the immediate result is coughing, exhaustion, congestion and other cold symptoms: immune-system-on-demand.
Anyway, I say that by way of preamble to the story of my long, holiday weekend. After seeing Peter off last Thursday, and doing some minor household chores on Friday, I lapsed into total convalescence on Saturday and Sunday. I had, perhaps unwisely, started visiting some cheesy flash game sites on my computer, which didn't help (or helped, depending on one's view of getting-nothing-done): I spent a number of hours playing a stupid, scrabblesque word-making game called bookworm, for example. When not on my computer, I read books, and even studied some Korean – but overall it was a singularly sick-feeling weekend.
I'm not writing here to complain, really – rather, there are people who follow my life via this blog who can thus know how I spent my long weekend. Let's just say: I imagined I was recovering from cancer and exhausted and in need of recuperative rest, and did precisely nothing.
I had a lot of strange dreams from sleeping more than usual. I didn't even write most of them down.
[daily log (11 pm): walking, 2 km]