Last night my throat got scratchy and I started coughing. It’s nothing, I thought. Probably allergies. Alas, I woke up sick today, weak and junky. Currently my head hurts, maybe from spending too much time in bed. Who knows what’s going on, either in my body or in American politics? But seriously, it could be sinus crud (it’s always sinus crud), a cold, the flu. Let’s hope it’s not the flu. Or the black plague. I’ve heard that’s awful. Something that can really put a damper on your plans for New Year’s.

Speaking of plans, I was supposed to have a day full of appointments today–a dance lesson, a checkup with my dermatologist, some odd job work. And whereas I thought about pushing myself and doing these things anyway, when I coughed up crap this morning decided to listen to my body and intuition instead. “Cancel your appointments,” they said. “Stay home. Rest.” So that’s what I did–made a few phone calls and went back to sleep. Each time I woke up, I went to the bathroom, drank a glass of water (I’ve heard fluids are important), then went back to sleep again. Finally, at five in the evening, I woke up, turned on my bedside lamp (which because I’m so gross is probably the only thing I could turn on today), and binge-watched Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

I haven’t finished yet, so keep your mouths shut about any spoilers.

Having dealt with (what I feel is) my fair share of sinus (and cold and flu) crud over the years, more and more I’m getting okay with it. Sure, it’s frustrating as hell, especially when I go down the rabbit hole of feeling sorry for myself, of thinking, This nonsense again?! Or when I blame myself. I should have known better, I should have done something different, and all that. But when I take whatever’s happening moment-by-moment, it’s not so bad. Like, Now I’m lying in bed. Now I’m coughing up a lung. Now I’m praying to God to get me out of this.

I mean, I’m in bed, I’m warm, I’m full, and I have people who love me.

Not so bad.

To be clear, it’s not so great either. I’d much rather feel like a million bucks or be at Disney World with Zac Efron on my arm. Or both. But these aren’t current options for me. So more and more, “not so bad” is good enough. Because although I’m in a certain amount of physical pain and discomfort, I’m not adding to my suffering by constantly telling myself a “woe is me” or “isn’t it awful?” story.

And when I do tell myself a tale of “and this sucks and this sucks and this sucks”? Well, I try not to believe me.