When I first got sick and the doctor came to see me in the infirmary, he said it would be important to "simulate game-time."
By this, he meant that even though I could barely walk and didn't have anywhere to go, I would have to wander aimlessly up and down the little hallway with the nurse at least twice per day.
I hated that. I hate treadmills for the same reason. They make me feel like a hamster in a wheel.
Anyways, I did it without too much fuss, and pretty soon, I got restless enough to actually want to come home. Before that, I had been pretty content with the steady stream of popsicles and pudding at my disposal. That is, until they made me do stuff.
One day last week, I woke up feeling especially terrible. This was nothing new, but I decided I'd had enough. I was tired of being sick, and I was getting restless. I decided I was having a day out, and I was going to walk to a café to have a drink and read a book, like any normal person might do.
So, I prepared myself mentally all morning. "Act cool," I thought, taking a cue from some friends in Budapest. I got some breakfast down. I took a bath. By early afternoon, I had a few articles of clothing on. I struggled with the last layers of winter regalia. My fingers started to tingle. I began to sweat. I got a little woozy.
I reached for a new bottle of gatorade. I couldn't get it open.
"Oh, forget it," I said to the bottle, as I held it like a baby and flopped over onto the bed. "At least I simulated game-time today."
The next day, I aimed a little closer to home. I set my sights on the slow cooker, instead of Starbucks. Turns out, a batch of rice pudding goes down easier than a latte, and the crock pot holds enough for two.
In recent days, similar pursuits have led to stuffed peppers, "pieless apples," and a first attempt at butter cookies, as you can see below. Thank goodness there's a consolation prize for warming the bench.