1/3/2011 - beautiful about sick days. . .

I called in sick today, the first time in quite a while where I felt sick enough to warrant a day at home.  As Sam was leaving to go to work, he opened one of the drapes and said, "There, you can look out the window," like I was some common house cat.  Yet on my way back to the couch with a newly filled glass of water, I did indeed stand in front of the window for a few minutes, watching the cars go by, the people across the street washing their cars, pedestrians carrying armloads of bulk from Costco.

(Sidenote: when I was a kid and had to stay home because I was sick, I would always wonder why there were so many cars still on the road outside of my house.  They couldn't all be sick, so shouldn't they be at their jobs?  In school?  Or at home, then, with thermometers in their mouths and moms who stocked up on rolls of saltines and chicken soup at the ready?  Why were these people milling about on a schoolday?)

Even feeling congested and a little bit woozy from a stuffed up sinus, there is still something beautiful about sick days.  On the surface, I am just thankful that I have a job where I am afforded sick time at all, but beyond that, it feels like I am using time that typically does not belong to me.  I would normally be typing a corporate e-mail or scribbling notes on some dental insurance thing or another, not sitting on the couch with a blanket over me and looking out the window to notice how the high noon sun illuminates the ugly pink building across the street.  Still ugly, still pink, but I am not usually at home at this time to see this particular arrangement of sunlight, so I'm going to go ahead and say that it is beautiful.  In its own way.

And even on the weekends, I would not be sitting here looking out the window at noon.  I would want to be heading out to meet friends, having lunch, being out in the world, anything not to waste precious weekend time.  But now, on this Monday afternoon, at 12:11 PM, a time my company usually owns, but today belongs to me, I feel like it is OK to look out the window.  I am not wasting my time nor losing any opportunity by simply taking a few minutes to notice the pinkish hue of the kitchen because of the light reflected from across the street, the squeal of brakes outside of my window, the shivering leaves from the winter breeze that surely contributed to my sickness in some way.

No, nothing is wasted, even as I realize that I have done nothing today except have breakfast, watch Pet Sematary, and appreciate my time as I stare out the window.  What more could I possibly have accomplished?