Like this:

Last week I got sick. Not just a case of the sniffles, mind you, but the sort of illness where you leave a police outline of sweat on your sheets despite the fact that you spent the night shivering and wondering if you might be in danger of freezing to death. Yeah. Sick.

I don’t tend to get sick either. Sure I’ll get the occasional cold or allergies, but not like this. The last time I was this bad was when I was in undergrad and had the flu. At that time, a cute young lady took pity on me and brought me some tea to help me feel better.

I’ve since married that young lady, but this time around I’ve been making my own tea… I’m choosing not to dwell on this fact because I fear I’ll stumble upon some hilarious cosmic joke that’s been had at my expense. Also, it’s not really that hard to make your own tea, especially when you intelligently move your microwave next to your bed (or vice-versa) and use the former for a nightstand/water heating device.

During the week I still had classes and tried my best to “tough it out” and “walk it off” as they say (coaches mostly) because I had important classes during the week and a practical exam on Thursday. But my body finally gave in on Friday and, ironically enough, I called in sick to my only class which has a mandatory attendance policy. Well done sir.

Having my first sick day in my 2 years of grad school was strangely wonderful. I felt terrible, but it gave me a chance to putter around when I wasn’t clinging to sleep. Puttering is one of, if not my very favorite pastime, and in my humble opinion, a lost-art of our age. It has to be dosed out properly. You must putter virtuously, if you will. Too much puttering and you end up dropping out of school or failing to hold down a “big-boy” job, and not enough puttering and you end up one day not having any hobbies, dreams, or idea of who you actually are (or there’s also the outside chance that you’ve become wildly successful because you spend your free time being productive instead of tinkering around on a guitar, but this sort of individual is perhaps better addressed on some other blog; one involving business, finance, philanthropy, or wall-street, etc.).

The puttering was nice, and I realized how long it’s been since I was able take part in it. I soon began to think about all of the things that I was supposed to be doing, studying, working on, taking care of, etc. and stress began to permeate my stuffy, feverish bliss (which mostly served to underline those two attributes). I realized how BUSY I am. It’s become almost compulsive. As soon as I have space in my schedule I fill it with something else, despite the fact that I’ve no doubt been complaining that I’ve been “too busy.” It’s insane. Having one day’s worth of plans go down the tubes shouldn’t upset the “apple cart of my life” (briefly questions validity of attempted idiomatic expression) as it did.

I don’t make time to putter. For me this means not making time to read (non-school related texts), to pray, to meditate, to play music, to write, to draw, to journal, to just sit and think over cup of coffee. What’s worse is, when I don’t MAKE time to putter, I think I somehow lose track of who I am. I get strangely out of touch with who I’m designed to be. This means I’m like some sort of thin, candy-shell of “me” when I interact with those I care about. I’m a hollow husband; a flaky friend.

I guess I’m still processing this all (both my musings and my mucus), but I think something is going to definitely have to change in the way I structure my life. I think the thought that I’m left with is this: A $25 co-pay to a doctor and a $5 bout of antibiotics (quick shout-out for teachers’ insurance) were well-worth the price-tag: They not only got me well on my way to a physical recovery, but they also helped me realize I was perhaps more ill than I ever realized.

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