So I took yesterday off from work. Last week was horrible, owing mainly to a combination of allergies and stomach trouble (which could have been caused by the allergies, or could have been some sort of tummy bug working independently). I worked all the way through it, partly because we're quite busy right now, and partly because my immediate boss was out on Thursday and Friday; somebody had to hold the fort.
If I'd had a week like that when I was younger, I would have spent the weekend alternating between the bed and the couch. With a four-year-old in the house, and an extremely (ludicrously!) pregnant wife who needs to grade papers for her classes, the opportunity to just rest is a bit harder to come by. So on Monday, while my wife was teaching, I dropped Small Boy off at his Nana's, went back home, and called in sick(ish).
Monday was an excellent recovery day. I went back to bed for a brief three-hour nap, made some food, played video games, and generally failed to accomplish anything. It was wonderful.
You'd think that would make me feel better, but by the end of the day I was nearly painfully exhausted. Yes, that's right: doing nothing wore me out. I think I'd been pushing so hard that when I finally slowed down, my body decided that it could now spare the time to actually be sick. So I took more meds before I went to sleep, and woke up this morning in a puddle of sweat - I think I actually threw off a fever somewhere in the small hours of the morning. (That would probably also explain the rather vivid dream where the ghost was deciding whether or not to kill me.)
I do feel better, really - clearer, better able to focus. It's just that I'm still exhausted, and just rested enough to realize how tired I really am. Goal for the day: try to take it easy, and make an early night of it tonight.