On top of the isolation and feeling a little (but only a little) wonky from the radiation, I've caught Ms. P's cold. This is day 4 of it for her, and she's still feeling awful. It's day 2 for me, and I'm quite grumpy about the whole thing. And I'm likely to start my period tomorrow.
So much for the cleaning and the craftwork and even watching any TV we haven't already seen before. Ms. P keeps falling asleep on the couch and only wakes when I blow my nose like a foghorn. I'm hunkered down in the armchair in three layers of clothes and blankets and a warming laptop on my lap. My solitaire average is dropping precipitously, and I can't think straight to do much else.
I had high hopes for this confinement. I had beading projects post-it-noted in magazines, I had visions of a pretty, pretty house. It can still be pulled out, but damn, I need the D*yquil to kick in.
This morning we had a brief bout of energy and went to the grocery store to replenish the fridge. It's surprising how quickly the food disappears when we actually eat at home every single meal and every single snack. Going to the store was depressing. The whole damn place is full of food I can't eat (cheese, ice cream, sour cream, mac and cheese) or shouldn't eat (everything processed). And when I'm sick like this, I want to eat the world, and especially everything I shouldn't eat. Not having eating as a coping mechanism isn't helping my state of mind.
What I've found interesting about the whole WW experience is how often I eat out of boredom or anxiety and how much I'm addicted to things I shouldn't be eating. Revealing, yes. Fun right now, not on your life.
When we turn off the Gilmore Girls and I put down the computer and my book, I start thinking about how the baby plan is on hold for six months, how I need to develop new coping mechanisms, how I've been eating terribly and that hasn't been helping my dicey health, how I'm freaked out that another health issue must be around the corner, how I'm worried that going from hyperthyroid (now) to hypothyroid (inevitable but unclear on the timing) will completely screw any chance I have of ever getting pregnant, how we're already up to 7 on the other-people-having-babies toll which is nowhere close to Bri's total but we've got 4.5 more years to match her record. It's really better if I keep the tv on and the book close to hand.
We're supremely unlikely to ring in the new year, and without kissing it doesn't seem to have much point. But tomorrow is a new beginning, and there's a superstition that whatever you do on the first day of the year is how you'll spend the rest of it. I'm planning to push through and do my best to have a lovely beginning.