I’ve complained a lot lately about how busy I am. “I’m a workaholic,” I told Mac yesterday.
“No,” he said. “You’re a stressaholic.” Ouch.
I want to believe he’s wrong but, well, there’s evidence that he’s right. I can’t say no to anyone who wants my time. I take on far more than I can ever complete. It’s not good.
What I find enlightening, however, is how I’m reacting this morning. I’m sick. Yesterday afternoon and evening, I began to feel nauseated, and I developed a fever. The fever’s been running at 102 for the last 12 hours. I cannot sleep. I need to throw up, but I can’t let myself do it. (I hate throwing up.)
More importantly, it’s time to take a break. When I’m this sick, there’s just no way for me to be productive. And yet doing nothing doesn’t seem like an option. I feel like there are so many things on my list, and doing nothing leads me to fall further and further behind.
I stopped to think this morning: When was the last time I actually did nothing for a day? I can’t remember. I watched the first half of Aliens about a month ago, but felt guilty for not working so I stopped midway through. Other than that, I can’t remember the last time I read for pleasure, or watched television, or browsed my comics.
So today I’m going to try to do nothing. I’ll read some comics or watch a movie or, well, sleep. Sleep sounds good.
But right now, maybe I’ll try to go throw up.