I've been nursing a sinus infection since last Sunday. Until yesterday, it was getting worse rather than better. Yesterday, I could neither breathe nor talk. When I went with a teacher to sweep the halls for a truant student, I actually started to feel light-headed because I could not get any oxygen in through my nose. My whole head felt like an explosion was imminent. I took this as a sign along with my ever-worsening condition that I may need to call the doctor. Medicine is not necessarily a sign of weakness; it could even be a sign of maturity. I didn't mind going to the doctor, but I did mind when my husband insisted that I take today off from work. I like being busy. It keeps me from thinking so much that I get depressed and it gives me some kind of sick American satisfaction. It's as if I think that the more stuff I can cram into each day, the more accomplished I've become. I almost think that I'm somehow leaving a mark on the world from the sheer amount of what I do rather than from the impact of doing less but doing it very well. Like mass quantities of mediocrity somehow equal out to one act of excellence.
Finally, I did reluctantly agree to take today off. I didn't sleep any longer. In fact, I woke up before my husband's alarm even went off and I sat there in panic about all the stuff that would not get done if I did not go to work. I had promised John I would rest, and I like ot be a woman of my word, but I was at the computer at 6am emailing the secretary with details about daily student issues that I would not be there to handle. I probably ended up biting my nails more by staying home than if I had just gone into work. As I laid in bed staring at the ceiling and wondering how I was supposed to get through an entire day of rest, it occurred to me that maybe all my busyness is really not so great. I mean, the school will not fall apart if I am not there one day. Maybe I should enjoy peace and quiet rather than panicking that I'm not where I should be and stuff that needs to get done won't get done. Maybe John is right--my illness is my body telling me I need a break.
Truth be told, however, I checked my work email several times and sitting here now, I do feel guilty for missing one important meeting and having to reschedule another one. I feel like I let people down who needed my help. I feel like a slacker for laying on my coach coughing and choking on the drainage from my nose instead of spreading disease--but at least getting stuff done--at work. It's one thing when work stops for everyone (such as on a glorious snow day); it's another thing when work keeps going and I'm not there to keep up. I realize that I entrench myself in my busy-ness in order to hide from my own emotions, which seem to have been negative most of my life, biology or environment, it doesn't even matter. And this is why free time depresses me--I'd rather be too busy to think about myself than to have a day where I have nothing else to focus on. And I certainly cannot escape into the other people's problems via the news today. I'm actually avoiding the news at all costs at the moment, because that penguin story is too heart-wrenching for me to stomach.
Posted by Kim at December 22, 2005 08:35 PM