Yesterday, I walked into a morning meeting at the office, half an hour late; threw down my coat & bags, and while searching for a pen, my large Kate Spade purse spilled onto the floor, leaving a trail of medicine bottles, yogurts, and lip gloss. ( I had not had time to eat, take all my meds, or properly fix my face before 10:30 am). I felt like Carrie Bradshaw on chemo. I looked at my colleagues and said "if the garage guy gets shot, it will be my fault." Several VPs had to step over my trail of personal items on their way to another meeting. Fortunately, it was only an internal staff meeting, and fotunately I no longer get graded on behavior, like I did in school. Yesterday afternoon, I told my colleagues that I was taking the day off today, as well as Saturday and Sunday. I'd hate to become all-work, no play, making Sandi a dull girl.
So today, I am home, taking a sick day. I'm not sure what that means, or really what to do. I'm not exactly debiliated: I can walk, breathe, and type, and don't have any doctor's appts. Although I might have a sore throat coming on. Maybe I should call someone about that.
And technology invades. I love love love my Ipad & Iphone, but they result in many many emails, and I cannot tune out all of the things that I should do, people I should reply to, follow up with, etc. Before blackberries & iphones, we just didnt know how much work was waiting for us. Before catscans & petscans, MRIs, and tumor markers, we didn't know how much cancer was growing inside of us. It is harder to rest, harder to stay innocent.
Today's page of my Latin American "Revelations" book has a poem:
This is not the first time
offshoot of humankind bearing firewood
whom you see raising up hope
from the ground. You hope.
Hope, for you, can arise only from the earth.
Sending much hope and love to all of you,
Sandi
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