Sick, the aftermath.

Why is it that when you're coming out of being sick for a significant chunk of days, you feel more like Rip Van Winkle than anything else. Oh I know the world spins on and on whether your cognizant of the fact or not, but it's the jarring effect on the psyche you get when you find yourselves playing catch up on a global scale.
I get that time is not linear . . . that it's all "Timey-Wimey and Wibbley-Wobbley", I'm enough of a 'Whovian' to get that. It's just so disconcerting to peek your head out of the bedclothes every so often and find that huge gaps of time have gone by without you. You reach out for a chug of water at 6:30am and pull the blankets back over you, but when you reach out to grab a tissue suddenly it's 1:10pm . . . and this goes on for days. you don't really feel yourself dropping out for hours at a time, but lo and behold! You did!
And why do people insist on making you feel guilty about it? I mean really, cut me a little slack. So you get a giggle when I'm still thinking it's Thursday when in fact it's Monday, or when I say I'll call in the morning and you brightly inform me that it is in fact, the morning already. So I haven't looked at my phone or my laptop in a few days . . . I've had better things to do, like spewing mucus or blowing out parts of my brain into a handkerchief. I'm not even up to full speed and all I get from everyone is "Cool! . . . I wish I could spend a couple of days in bed!". No, No you don't. On vacation, curled up with a willing companion, yes! Those would be interludes to enjoy, not when you're sick though, at that point your only thought is "Can I O/D on cough medicine?"
Being sick is not for wussies, that's for sure.