I have a week off this week. It will be a week of doing not much, of catching up on writing and reading. And probably doing my tax return, finally.
It will be a week of enforced isolation, mostly. I’m having a treatment for a thyroid disease that will make me, ummm, radioactive. Literally. Weird, huh?
It will mean I can’t be in close quarters with anyone for a few days. I’m at my parents’ house in Canberra, but I won’t be able to sit in the same room as them (or my brothers, or anyone) for any length of time. It’s all a little strange. But the end result, hopefully, will be a much more manageable condition.
The upshot of all this is that I’ve got some time on my hands. For what seems like the first time in forever, I’ve got a few days where I’m actually not able to leave the house, and where I will be well (just radioactive). I have a short list of things I’d like to get done. I’ve got two short stories on the go, that I want to finish; I’ve got a couple of books I’d like to read; and I’ve got that ol’ tax return.
Aside from a mild (but persistent, to be honest) fear of the seriousness of what I’m doing, I’ve been looking forward to having this time. More and more lately I seem to relish the time I get to spend by myself just pottering, thinking, or cooking. I like my alone time. It’s a nice way to be, I think.