I’ve spent the weekend doing things that I enjoy, but that don’t matter. First, I’ve been sick. On Friday I woke up with a sore throat. That evolved into a full-blown cold this weekend. I couldn’t sleep very well the last two nights, and I’ve felt feverish all day. I am hoping that tomorrow I’ll start to feel better and that by Wednesday I’ll have made a full recovery. I found some expired Advil Cold and Sinus in my cabinet and am hoping that gets me through the next few days at work.
I did, however, surprise myself by going to Bikram every day this weekend. I’m not sure why I went yesterday or how I mustered the energy to complete the series, but I talked myself into it by promising to take it easy and sit out poses if I needed to. I ended up doing every pose and had a nice, relaxing practice. While I felt somewhat sheepish about attending while possibly contagious, the heat and humidity felt really healing to my lungs. I also told myself that these healthy yogis were completely immune to my little cold…if I was even still contagious.
This morning I woke up after a rough night of mouth breathing, constricted lungs, and congestion. Bikram seemed like the only thing that would soothe me. So, I went again, promising to take it easy on myself. Once again, I ended up completing the whole series! It was a gentle, relaxing class, and my lungs and sinuses felt much better afterwards. Normally, I run three miles a day Friday through Sunday, but I didn’t do that this weekend. I just didn’t feel up to it.
For the rest of the weekend, I was pretty lazy and got to do something I love doing in preparation for big events, such as weddings, date nights, and yes, even job interviews (last year)–that is to stay home and engage in a slow and methodical beautification ritual. The occasion is that my boo is coming home in…three days(!) Now, I started this blog entry by mentioning that these are things that do not matter. They don’t matter to him because it involves a kind of nuance that he (and possibly no other human) would ever notice. The practice involves hair maintenance, including carefully shaving my knees. It involves the kind of pedicure that includes various lotions, and layers of base coats, drying, two layers of color, and drying, and a protective top coat and more drying. I cut my fingernails very short and painted them too, following the same slow, methodical procedure as the toes. I almost never give myself a manicure anymore. I just type and use my hands too much and the polish never stays on. I did it anyway.
Before it is all over, I’ll also wash the bedding, probably the night before since I don’t want to leave my cold germs, soggy tissues, and Vicks VapoRub all over everything (sexy!), I’ll deep condition my hair, and I might even clean the house. These activities do matter to me, I guess, because I simply wouldn’t do any of them if I didn’t have something to look forward to, preceded by a weekend of being too sick to do anything else. It was like having one last girly weekend, wherein I watched all of the Real Housewives of XYZ and painted by nails and applied lotion and pampered myself because that opportunity may not arise again for a long time.