Although most of my day was a murky swamp, I discovered an island. It was a small bit of land in the middle of all that muck, but for once I found it. I had to. If there's only one good hour out of an entire Monday, I have to use it to do the whole day's work.
Naturally, after losing my whole Sunday, I might have been a little better tuned into the sudden appearance of a few good moments. My Monday task list doesn't vary much anyway, so I didn't have to waste valuable time deciding what to do. It's bill-paying day, and we've been short of cash for so long I had plenty of catching up to do in that department.
Yesterday was dream-like. I remember it the way I remember dreams, which is to say vaguely, with few details and only a general sense of mood. It's probably best left that way. I could so easily be seduced into spending more days doing nothing, if I let myself enjoy it too much. It's the only good part of being sick, the self-pampering.
The way I describe my normal weekends would never lead you to believe I'm any kind of dynamo. Even when all is well, I don't get a lot done. I do move around more than I did yesterday, though. I can't remember a day when I've spent so much time in one position, lying on my back on the couch.
My Sunday was one long pause in the concerto. Today I managed to strike a few notes and even a chord or two. By tomorrow I expect to be putting phrases together again, and by this time next week, who knows? Maybe a cadenza.