The plan was to use today to get over yesterday. I didn't sleep last night, and I was so drained this morning that I even turned Tammy down when she phoned and asked me to go for a ride with them. Saying no to an invitation like that (trust me on this) never happens. On any other day I would have been out the door in a flash.
But I needed to recover. I needed to rest. I needed to hide.
That didn't happen either, though. A massive typing job started arriving over the fax at midday, page after page, with a cover note informing me that this was needed for an important meeting about the Kennel tomorrow. Good thing I didn't go anywhere, isn't it? Good thing I was home licking my wounds instead of out somewhere gallivanting, isn't it?
I'm sure this extra work is appreciated. I know that if I didn't do it, I wouldn't have a shot at being cut into the deal. I certainly don't have any money to contribute to the project. If sweat is what it takes, at least it's something I can afford to give. Just don't ask me to pretend to be happy about it on a sleepy Sunday.
When I talked to Julie on the phone, I let her know that this was my planned day of recovery, and that I'd given up a chance (two chances, actually) to spend time with the family. I'm not even sure why I said it, because it didn't make any difference. All it did was make someone else feel bad, and that's not what I'm about. (To be honest, I don't think she felt all that bad anyway. She's one of those people that if something needs to be done, she does it, no excuses.)