Yesterday at work, stuffed up on Panadol, a colleague remarked that I looked amazing and seemed to have shed my illness miraculously. I think it was just my adrenaline powering me through an insane day starting at 6:45 am and wrapping at midnight - because the day before and the day after (today) I feel like a hot mess warmed over thrice.
The good news is, yesterday: my team pulled off a seamless webinar that was very well attended and got glowing feedback, I figured out Lola's mystery stomach ailment that had been unresolved for a week (e-coli!!), I pitched for a matter, scheduled a Singapore business trip, got a thrilling new pro bono assignment I am super excited about, dealt with an ornery client and sent out a massive document, got my Taobao shipment for the kids room (coming together very nicely), ordered a print for my bedroom that I have been lusting after for 12 years (seriously), and finished the most satisfying book from Annabel Monaghan while sitting in my rose soak bath.
The bad news is today I am really, really feeling it.
I don't know if I have always been this way or if this need to push on, to keep going, has been drilled into me. In my more introspective moments, I wonder, what am I so afraid of if things don't get done right away? What benefit is there in rushing through life trying to get everything accomplished? There will just be more. More tasks, mundane tasks, important tasks, tasks that feel mundane but are important, tasks that feel important but are mundane... marching onward, forever and ever, where your reward for finishing any task is just more new tasks, never-ending tasks, until you take your last breath and shed your mortal coil. Death will be our only respite against errands.
And also... that's probably why I shouldn't blog when I am sick.
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