Last week, in what I hope and pray was my final week of illness after four weeks of what I am now convinced were complications brought on by H1N1, I had reached my limit, and I was pretty sure of the following things:
- I would never blog again. In fact, I hated my blog. I believed I "jumped the shark" probably way back before I even started the blog, in, like 2003.
- I was probably getting a divorce.
- All of my friends hated me.
- I would never feel well again. In fact, I would probably die of swine flu.
- I would probably infect my cats with swine flu and they would probably die, too.
- My grandparents were probably going to get swine flu and die very soon, too.
- I would never be able to drink wine again. This made me very, very sad.
- I would never have children.
If you think I am joking, well ... I'm not. I had reached an all-time new low. I was crying and feeling sorry for myself all day long, every day that I had to lie on the couch and watch mind-numbing daytime TV. Something about feeling so ill for that length of time killed my spirit and my hope and whatever sliver of optimism I manage to have on a normal day.
Now that I've completed a round of antibiotics and am moving on to another (just to be sure this bastard sinus infection is dead, dead, dead) I feel like I'm waking up from a bad dream. Even though I don't feel 100% better yet, I feel better enough that I am pretty sure of the following things:
- I will keep blogging, even if this never goes anywhere and I continue to have only 15 readers.
- I think I'll stay married to my husband.
- Most of my friends don't hate me.
- I'll eventually feel completely better.
- The cats will be fine.
- My grandparents ... well, let's face it. They're ticking time bombs.
- I will drink wine again.
- It might take a miracle, but I will probably have children someday. Poor things.