I got sent home yesterday from work, partly because I was sick, and partly because my coughing was disturbing the executive with whom I share a wall. I even missed knit night last night. So I'm home sick today. I don't feel great, but as long as I sit relatively still I don't feel completely dreadful. To pass the time I have been sitting on the couch, watching Dowton Abbey and knitting. I've been putting my books into my Ravelry library. I've starting a cardigan out of handspun and it's knitting up really prettily and very quickly.
After lunch I sat out on the back balcony and finished spinning the singles for Idlewood, and started washing a merino fleece. After I post this it's back to the couch.
Now, I know I'm actually sick, but how do these activities differ from my perfect day? They don't. Hence the guilt. I feel like I am chucking a sickie, even though that's not what I'm doing.