I woke up with a heavy head. The kind that makes you pause before opening your eyes. Last night’s headache had already demanded medicine, and I naïvely assumed sleep and paracetamol would negotiate a truce. It didn’t. By morning, the pain was still there, louder, more insistent.
By ten, I knew I wouldn’t be going downstairs. The BCA relationship manager was scheduled to visit for their annual courtesy call, bringing Christmas and birthday gifts for my husband. Normally I would have joined, smiled politely, exchanged small talk. Today, my role was strictly horizontal. So my husband went alone, meeting them in the lobby while I stayed upstairs, negotiating peace with my own head.
When he came back, he brought stories and a generous set of gifts: an Exquise hamper, planners, calendars. A proper, thoughtful spread. Thank you, BCA. I appreciated it quietly, from the bed, with the blurry gratitude of someone slightly dizzy from medication.
The rest of the day dissolved into rest. I slept. I woke. I slept again. At some point, Ranger CleanSheet came by to tidy the house, and by late afternoon I found myself enjoying the gloomy, windy weather from a distance. The kind of day that feels like permission to do absolutely nothing.
And that was it, really. No errands. No productivity. No dramatic revelations. Just rest.
I wondered if this was God gently pressing the pause button for me. The past two months have been crowded with events, commitments, conversations, movement. Or perhaps it was a quiet reminder to be kinder to my body: to stop pretending that cholesterol and uric acid will magically behave if I ignore them long enough.
Either way, the message was clear. Today was not for doing. It was for listening.
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