Metaphorically feverish


Some days just don't turn out as planned.

Today was going to be super-busy: I was supposed to go to the Barnes Foundation museum with a classmate and her husband around noon, out in the suburbs. Which meant taking the train, which meant leaving the house around 9:30 a.m. to run a couple of errands first. Tonight was our department holiday party, too, and I'd promised to make mini-cheesecakes. I had a choice between getting up extra-early, or rushing home this afternoon to do those. (Actually my original plan was to do them yesterday, but, well, that didn't happen.)

So I got up extra-early, planning to be industrious. Unfortunately, I also had no voice and a fever, so I was actually feeling listless and in need of lots of rest and tea. A look out the window confirmed that it had indeed snowed as expected, so the streets were icy and it just did not seem like a good idea to go tramping about.

I canceled the museum trip, but was still wavering about the party. On the one hand I really wanted to go, see some people I hadn't seen much of lately--or even ones I had. On the other hand, I wasn't sure that traipsing across the city and back in freezing weather would be a smart thing to do.

Even though the semester is mostly over, there's still a lot left to finish up: some work for my research supervisor, a final assignment for my pedagogy class, the ubiquitous grading, miscellaneous paperwork issues. So I figured I should take advantage of the day and make some headway on those, right? Instead, I mostly stared dumbly into space, napped intermittently, and made the cheesecakes so I couldn't use that as an excuse for skipping the party. (And because I am insane, I made three different kinds: with a gingersnap and pecan crust and more of the crumbs sprinkled on top; with a vanilla wafer crust with raspberry coulis on top; and with a chocolate-mint cookie crust and Ghirardelli mint chocolate swirled through and spread on top. I did not actually get to eat any of them myself, which is just as well.)

Which I didn't, and I'm glad. I had a fun time talking to people, my cheesecakes went like hotcakes, my funky Italian patterned stockings were a hit. There was a ton of food, but I can tell I am finally coming off my nerve-induced binge eating phase since I did not eat as much as I could have. I met some of the first year students, which was fun. Getting a ride home was even better, since the walk over consisted of me praying I wouldn't slip on the ice and smash my plate of cheescakes, or drop them into a puddle of slush.

Now I'm still feeling feverish, but at least it's an "I have at least a semblance of a social life" kind of feverish, rather than the "I haven't spoken to anyone but my cat in three days" variety. Having experienced both, I strongly prefer the former. Actually I prefer not to be feverish at all, especially since I really have to wait at least another week before falling apart physically. Since I didn't really get anything done, though, I really need to get my act together over the weekend: there's still time for the semester to end in disaster if I don't. I have to get through this last bout of feverish activity, which is a lot easier when one is not really feverish at all. Only fevers of the metaphorical type are admissible at the moment.