Filed under: health, life, writing | Tags: books, canturbury tales, health, life, rest cure, stress, writing
mom has left. she has mopped my floors and deemed me well enough to fend for myself. while she was mopping i decided to park it in front of some book shelves and dust.
i’m considering packing some of my books away. i never re-read books. no one wants to borrow any of the titles i have, but…i just can’t throw them away.
can you read what any of those books beneath the shelf are? have you read them? can you tell what my major was in college? did you laugh at all while reading the canturbury tails?
i’m feeling better, but still not up for work tomorrow. i’m wiped out from fighting this, but i’m relieved the antibiotics are working. truthfully, i have-to-have-to-have-to make a huge daily effort to not be stressed out. i always teach the pet therapy classes that long term exposure to stress chemicals sap your immunity. and here, i’ve just taught myself…again.
in junior high we read a story in english class called “the yellow wallpaper.” a woman had been sent to a “facility” for what was called a “rest cure.” as women of the country became more independent and outspoken, the thought of sending one’s wife away to rest so she could handle her tiny stresses became ridiculous.
how come i feel like i need the rest cure? and would the members of the women’s studies board at the university be shocked to hear this and relieved that they had lost their weakest member?
maybe i need another nap.
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