Another day for sleep

Cathy told me I would be unwise to go back to work today and I think she's right, given I rang in sick and then slept till gone 1 'o' clock. I hate ringing in ill. There's that feeling that in your weakness you're disappointing people who are counting on you, and always that half-accusing unasked question 'how ill are you, really?'

My dad rang to see if I went in and when I said how bad I felt told me: "You can always do work when Jesus comes." I'm not quite sure what he meant by that.

There is a (cynical) school of thought which says if you leave doing anything for a week, most 'urgent' things sort themselves out. There's a grain in that. A number of times I've responded to an urgent call to action, only for minds to change and my work to lie unused.

Cathy has printed and stuck a label on our monitor: "The reward for work well done is the opportunity to do more." Perhaps this is true too: the reward for not treating anything as important is the realisation of what truly is important. All very Zen, I know, but hey, I'm post-viral and not really with it.