For the record, there are a lot of times that I don't feel 'well', per se. Many times when I'm immobilized by migraines. But not often that I'm actually sick.
Consequently, I'm an insufferable baby about it when it happens.
I'm feverish, coughing and have a sore throat. When I climbed down from my loft this morning, I promptly armed myself with generic nyquil capsules (cause that stuff tastes awful, generic or otherwise), chloraseptic throat spray, vitamin C, echinacea/goldenseal and garlic (most of which I've been dutifully taking every 4 hours)and climbed back up to snuggle with the cats all day.
Napping is good. Sadly, I'm one of the few people on the planet (apparently) who isn't made drowsy by benadryl (consequently, nyquil and it's relatives also do not make me sleepy). It's a warmish day, which makes my drowsing restless at best.
Reading, my usual favorite feeling-rotten-activity, is complicated by the fact that I a)do not want to read about war today (too depressing to combine with physical illness), b)haven't unpacked my books yet (so the few I have out have been read to shreds already) and c)the only book I've purchased recently (The Book of the Dun Cow) is not only another re-read, but also quite depressing. Good, mind you, but depressing.
Fortunately, I got to read the first chapter of grifyn's upcoming book. Unfortunately, now I have to wait for her to finish writing it, to read the rest.
Perhaps I'll try napping again.