Calling in sick to life...

After three weeks straight of nonstop -- well, stuff. I called in sick to life today.

No, not to work. I work from home, so it's kind of hard to call in sick to work -- what do I do? Call in to myself and make up excuses while faking coughing? No, to life.

What does that mean? It meant sleeping in late. In fact, not getting out of bed until nearly noon. And the only reason I got out of bed then? The damn doorbell button got stuck after the UPS guy rang it to alert me to a package. Again. So I had to not just get up, but go downstairs and outside (and yes, in my nightgown with just a sweatshirt thrown on top), to unstick the button and stop the damn bell from ding donging.

And yes, ding donging is in fact a real phrase. Infernal ding donging would be more appropriate though.

What else does it mean? That once up, I merely moved to my couch. Made some breakfast, and then settled in for a "Without a Trace" marathon on ionTelevision. God bless ion and crime shows. Seriously. I could be without any human companionship and potentially everything else (I do, after all, have an emergency alcohol supply, so that's not an issue), as long as I had ionTelevision. Seriously.

Hmmm. And what else does calling in sick to life mean? It means rest and more rest. It means not thinking, not focusing, not doing anything but lazing around. And yes, lazing is in fact a word. It is the "present participle of the verb laze". After all, they can't print anything on the internet that isn't true, can they? 

As I will admit that days and weeks straight of nonstop activities, guests, fun, and cheer -- truly lovely days of amazing and wonderful times -- were also exhausting, physically and mentally. Nonstop is fun! Except when it reaches more than 20 days straight. Activities are fun! Except when they can be physically demanding and ongoing for days on end. Guests are fun! Except when you're the type of person to really need your "alone time" to recharge, and there's no break to get a chance to plug in.

On that note, apologies to any of my guests if I was impatient or pissy at any time -- while surly is a usual state for me, I do try to avoid impatient or pissy. I swear. Seriously. No laughing people, I did -- thankyouverymuch -- admit the surliness. And that has to count for something. Right? Right!

In other words, I was on the verge of exhaustion; on the verge of potential illness; on the verge of frustration; on the verge of losing my mind even. I was, as they say, a woman on the verge. And despite the recommendations to change the name of my blog to that phrase, I decided instead to call in sick to life. 

Something our American culture not only frowns upon and most certainly does not embrace, but actively criticizes. Nothing like societal disapproval and shame to create a nation of workaholics -- workaholics who are all on the verge.... 

I could go on and on about how the Mediterranean culture, with its big midday meals and siestas, is so much healthier and better, for body and soul -- but that would make this another rant, and, well, I've called in sick today, so no rants for me. (Ahem!)

Instead, I'll sing the praise of "Mental Health Days." As it is not just our body that needs health care sometimes, but also our soul. And it's not just about using a sick day, but about acknowleding how important our soul is. 

I used to regularly schedule "Dottie Parker Days" for this purpose -- in honor of my heroine, the poet Dorothy Parker. She of the Algonquin Round Table and the Vicious Circle. She of the "I will sip whiskey neat, constantly, in order to never be drunk and never be sober, and never have to be hungover again." So. We would drink. Constantly. Slowly, but constantly. Good times!

But -- and I know this is shocking! -- I did come to the realization that Dottie Parker Days are not exactly restful. Fun, entertaining, fantastic -- but not restful. At all.  

So now there are "Mental Health Days" -- ie, calling in sick to life. And they keep me well-rested and sane. You know, fat and happy. Sharp as a tack. Happy as a lark. Or something like that.

All I know is that I called in sick to life today -- obviously not sick into work or I wouldn't be writing -- and despite losing the entirety of this original blog post, I am happy as a lark right now. Seriously.

Tweet. Tweet. Warble. Warble.

Or something like that.