"I can see it from the end of the road"

I can't quite find an adjective to apply to last weekend.  It contained triumphs, anxiety attacks and a lot of cleaning.  I fed people salad and mac'n'cheese.    It was mostly full of cleaning and readercon, and feeling somewhat less than awesome.   But I got a readercon thing mostly done, demanded a lot of praise and actually got a lot of praise, Delight sent me a picture from Philadelphia than made me grin like an idiot for most of a day, and in addition to all the plans I made on purpose, I got to hang out with Bespoke unexpectedly, which also made me giddy.  (Oh, spring.)

Then, Sunday night, after dinner with Mech and his lovely fiancee, I came home and began to cough.  Convulsively, painfully, productively.  And my chest started to feel like everytime I breathed, there a was fist crumpling paper in the bottom of my lungs.   So, I bailed out of work on Monday, went to the doctor's and got a diagnosis, antibiotics, and cough syrup with codeine.    And so the past few days, I've spent either unconscious, or drinking an improbable amount of liquid.   I haven't really talked to anyone, done any cross-stitch, or any of the necessary followup readercon work.  I haven't read much, cleaned much, or walked anywhere.   I did put away a whole load of laundry and ended up wheezing like I'd climbed a mountain.

But, tomorrow, I intend to go back to work, go to my psychiatrist, and then either an Anais Mitchell show or the SoS volunteer art opening at Bloc 11.   Wisdom tells me that I'll be lucky if I manage the first two, but when I'm not unconscious, I'm feeling extremely fidgety and maybe I'll feel all better tomorrow, right?