I went to the doctor and she told me I am sick. At least her test said I'm sick. Now I am feeling sick and I'm using that as an excuse for not engaging in activities. This may be what my mother called "enjoying poor health." I'm not really feeling pain or distress, I just don't want to do anything. On the other hand, if I really wanted to or other conditions were right, I could make some bread or fly a kite or make cookies for a grandchild. I'll just sit here in my bathrobe and reflect on life and the thought of getting better. If taking the medicine will give me a boost, it might be worth a try. Well, maybe not.
I'm not "mad" and I don't do many things that others question. I do read the Bible and poetry, and I even write it, but in my own defense, I'm not obsessed with my illness. I'm capable of using it as an escape. Some women of the 17th and 18th centuries that got the title really were crazy, but there were a few that used illness to enjoy a reclusive life. Their society allowed and even encouraged it. They didn't have to meet other people or work or dress for dinner. Emily Dickinson was a very productive poet with the restrictions her life imposed. I'm pretty sure I can't measure up to her standards, but for today maybe I'll just "enjoy poor health."