After three days of getting up at 5:00, sleeping in this morning felt almost sinful. The house was cold; I made myself a mug of lemon tea and lit a fire in the woodstove, then bundled up in a fleece quilt and read until DW got up a couple of hours later. And by then, I knew I was sick. When DW wandered out in his sweats to make tea, I headed back to bed.
And I stayed there all day, sleeping (mostly), and reading. Madison came to see what happened to me, and curled up on the bed and stayed all day. It's cold and cloudy, and I'm still hoping for snow. I finished one book and started another, kept up with e-mail and Instagram, and didn't feel at all like being vertical again until dinnertime. We heated up leftovers and settled down by the fire to watch a movie, and then I headed back to bed.
Since retiring, I've rarely been sick (which tells me what a germ factory I used to work in). So when I do get a bug, it takes a bit to realize it.
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