Getting sick is not something I do very often or very well, but after feeling really puny all week I finally gave in to it and went to the doctor yesterday afternoon. He said I had a gastrointestinal infection, prescribed some medicine and said I should go home and rest. I know, they always say that but the way I was feeling it sounded like a perfect idea.
And it would have been a perfect idea, except that Doc is in the midst of one of his all too frequent home maintenance frenzies. For Doc, home maintenance is not a do-it-yourself activity. It always involves people, lots of people, lots of loud people.
Just as I got home prepared to crawl into bed, Robert arrived. Robert, Doc's main maintenance guy, is the quintessence of the tool belt toting, klutzy, talks more than he works, loud, but good-hearted maintenance man. I laid myself down in bed, pillow over my head to the symphony of Robert's drills, banging ladders and big feet.
Just as Robert was gathering up/dropping his tools, the lawn people showed up with mowers and edgers outside the window. I put a second pillow over my head.
The lawn people finished and Doc and Dodger said goodbye to go off to where ever Doc and Dodger go off to. I breathed a big sigh, took the pillows off my head, rolled over and heard the front door open. The cleaning people were here. I got up, apologized to them for being in the way, and went back to bed, pillow over my head.
When the cleaning people started to vacuum and Robert propped a ladder up on the outside of the house and started scraping and caulking in prep for repainting I gave up. I grabbed a book, got in the car in all my just got out of bed glory and drove to Starbucks to the darkest, most out of the way corner I could find.
When I came home later I was very grateful for a quiet, clean, well-maintained house. I was also very ready to go to bed.