I have always liked the week between Christmas and NewYear’s, although this week has been tougher than most, with the messy aftermath of the storms . I have no lost luggage to worry about but I do have lost friends, I fear, for my dreadful neglect and then an unavoidable, unforgivable inability to make up for squandered time. It’s something else I must learn: new, different estimates on how much time a given task is going to take me to complete. It takes longer now, and always will, not just recovery time which has been difficult to acknowledge and adjust to, but, as I realize, actual performance time.

This week of being sick inept and helpless has provided me with some understanding, then tolerance, acceptance and even pleasure as I succumbed to my weakness. I am alone again, completely. No one is going to blow a whistle on me. If I have to stop to catch my breath, or sit down, or even lie down, no one is going to notice or care. Time out has become a surprising relief I don’t have to apologize for.

Now I have a list of things i must do and a limbo day to get them done. Lots of time. No whistles.

Count your blessings.

Later, maybe.