Here in Cyprus it is Green Monday, a day off from work to go barbecue, recoup from Carnival, and to kick off Lent. It is a day of leisure for all.
All but my husband, that is. He woke up, per his usual Monday morning routine, at five, showered, got dressed, and went to work to tackle his typical Monday workload. There are four others at the office with him, all of whom had regional meetings via telephone throughout the day.
Mr. F? He had to get them the numbers.
While I always marvel at my husband leaving so unbelievably early on Mondays and still functioning at a normal level, today was supposed to be his day off. Not only that, but he is majorly sick. (According to him he has SARS contracted because he has not had a Coke in nearly a week and his immune system doesn't know how to react.) He spent all weekend asleep, which isn't really a surprise for those of you who know him, but he hasn't slept like this in a long time. We went for a walk Saturday morning to soak in some sunshine, and then he came home and went to bed. And slept. Until Sunday afternoon. At which point he did some more work and fell asleep.
But today he is working while sniffling and wheezing. All because that is what he feels he is supposed to do. He's my hero. When I get sick like this, I curl up in bed and hide until it's over. Work? If possible, I avoid it. If not, I complain to no end. Mr. F, for the most part, has just worked clear through the day, with minimal complaint. He's my hero and I'm so very grateful for him.
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