Inside Out and Back to Front

I’ve been sick for the last few days and totally uninterested in writing much of anything. But every day I start out thinking that today’s the day I will take a bath and wash my hair, which has been hiding under my wooly hat in the same way I’ve been hiding under my bathrobe.
Well today I felt better about the world and about taking that bath.
I know I will be able to do the chores both inside and out that have been bothering me for days. I will pick up those pots outside on the rustic table that the chickens keep knocking over and I will really sweep the pathways of the remains of leaves and dirt that the chickens and nature distribute on the ground with distressing regularity. And as I approached the door to my cherished bathtub where I could picture myself lounging in for a few delightful moments
I saw in the mirror, not yet clouded by the steam, I saw that my cotton tee shirt that I’ve worn for days in a row, was not only inside out but back to front. Jeepers.
The good news is that I wore a zippered and hooded sweatshirt over that which makes my striped flannel jammy bottoms look like an outfit if I throw on my largest pair of sweat pants over them, which I didn’t since I felt too lousy. But since I hardly ventured outside it didn’t make much difference if I threw some trash out in the recycling bag or swept some of the debris outside the front door wearing that get-up with or without my sweat pants No one to see me but my old man. My old mate is used to me staying in my nightwear when I feel ill, especially in cold weather, although I did put on a speck of makeup and combed my hair somewhat every day so he didn’t think he’d actually married a complete hag who didn’t have any redeeming attractiveness.
But when I saw that my top that I wear with those cute bottoms was on like a crazy person would do it, I had a good laugh at myself, remembering how hard it was for me to put it on in that dark bedroom the night I got sick, so I forgave myself for being human.
This would have never happened to me in the past since I’ve been an avid perfectionist all my life, always striving to do my best and at the very least keeping up appearances. But after living through the last 4 years of the world gone mad, it’s a miracle that I am still functioning at all with any iota of decorum considering all of the stress and worry many of us are barely getting through. So, rather than beat myself up for not noticing my mistake, as I might have done in my previous life, I know that this is just not worth the effort. My focus and thoughts are on higher, more important matters that really mean something. And the wisdom I’ve gleaned over all of my years of being alive is finally showing itself at long last. My sister’s death surely brought my attention to what’s truly significant and it ain’t which way I put my jams on when I’m feeling awful.
Let’s face it. The world has been inside out and back to front too. That takes precedence over my wardrobe mishaps. End of personal revelation.