It’s always tempting to say something like, “the worst thing about getting sick is…”

Except that if I stop and really think about it, everything about getting sick is the worst.

So perhaps it would be better to say that the most disconcerting thing about being sick is how it brings on a minor bout of depression.

By late yesterday afternoon, I was convinced that I has screwed up everything in my life: that I had no friends, and that I should just close down my website, never attempt to write another word, etc.

Then my back started to ache and I felt the need to curl up under a quilt to get warm, and I realized that I had a fever.

It was a relief to know that taking a pain killer and curling up with a good book to ignore the voices in my head would alleviate the worst of it.

And today, beside the lingering aches, I’m feeling worlds better; ready to get out and do all the things I thought I was incapable of yesterday.

However, part of me is still considering the things my brain came up with yesterday, and wondering whether there is a grain of truth in them. Whether the feelings we get at times like that are a reality check of sorts.