Yesterday I called in sick to work. Something I rarely do, and generally reserve for serious illness. I did feel physically unwell yesterday. Maybe I could have managed my achiness and congestion, but I had some doubts. Upon waking I instantly had an anxiety attack or two (or maybe they were carried over from my dreams). And I’d taken some cold&sinus medication that had me seriously looped, causing my heart to race for hours. Plus I wanted to air out my scraped knees so they could scab over (lovely, I know), something I didn’t feel like doing at the office. So instead I had a leisurely breakfast with the little man before taking him in. I was so out of it that I started driving towards a certain someone’s parents’ house, instead of to the daycare. Doh. I course corrected halfway there, and tried to clear up the confusion for the little man, but he was still upset when he realized where we were really headed. After a tearful goodbye I headed back to our side of town. Swung by the coffee shop, more out of habit than out of need. With the drugs in my system I was already over-stimulated, so the coffee remained mostly untouched. Laid down for a bit. Eventually my heartrate slowed down and the queasiness subsided. But the anxiety kicked back in. Instead of resting and relaxing, I took on the household chores. That had gone undone for far too long. I changed the catbox, took out the trash, washed *all* the dishes, swept then mopped the kitchen, dining room and living room floors (couldn’t scrub ‘em, which I would have preferred, because of my sorry knees), scrubbed down the dining room table, washed many loads of laundry, and took several bags of plastic bottles down to the co-op to be recycled (the city won’t pick them up). It was all good. I think I needed to turn my brain off for a bit and just get these things taken care of. Then I had a most relaxing evening cuddling with the little man, in our freshly cleaned home.