Many years ago, when I was smack-dab in the midst of my workaholic stage — a penchant I inherited from my father — I vacationed with my then-husband and another couple for eight days in Cancun.

Prior to the trip my routine each week was thus: 50+ hours as a public relations coordinator for a nuclear power plant, 15-20 hours “moonlighting” to develop a management consulting firm, two nights in graduate school…and I still managed to exercise, cook, do laundry, sleep and visit with friends.

When I reached Cancun, I panicked.  This was the first vacation I’d ever taken wherein I stayed in one place the entire time.  All my other trips had been on-the-go.  You know the kind: cars trips around the U.S., a train trip through the British countryside, 12 European countries in 28 days, etc.

What would I do to pass the time in Cancun? I was fidgety and anxious to fill my days with activities and busyness.

My companions pleaded with me to slow down, to relax, to chill.

By day three, I finally gave in to resort life.  In fact, by day three I had found a coral lounge chair perched perfectly between pool and ocean and I just…well…lounged.

And lounged.

And lounged some more.

I got so good at lounging that by day six when everyone else wanted to do an excursion to the pyramids at Chichén Itzá, I waved them along with my right hand as I sipped an exotic drink with my left.  I was busy doing nothing, and I wanted to get really good at it.

You’re probably wondering what happened when I returned home.  I won’t keep you hanging: I picked up right where I left off.

Fast forward to 2012 and here I go again, lounging.  But it doesn’t involve a posh vacation or intriguing locale this time.

Last month, my otherwise-wonderful son brought home from college a case of mononucleosis.  He and I are very close.  I’m blessed in that respect.  However, that closeness means we share everything, too.

As a result, I went from 100 mph to zero, in a one-hour timeframe.  Yes, I know for a fact that it hit me precisely between 4 and 5 p.m. on a Monday afternoon.

For four days, my greatest accomplishment was making it up/down the long staircase to microwave some chicken soup and take my meds.

I was forced to return to lounging again.  Never mind the clients I needed to please, or the book I’m trying to revise with my editor, or the second book I should be writing, or my blog, or Twitter, or Facebook, or Just My Joe in Georgia, or my son in college, or my parents in Pennsylvania, or friends here, there and everywhere.

For the second time, I was forced to lounge, albeit a much more unpleasant type of lounging…but still, lounging all the same.

I was forced to do N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

By week two, I was able to sit up with my head propped, a heaven-sent miracle after the week I’d been through.  I discovered Netflix and the British series Downtown Abbey.  I’m their number one fan now.  I watched all 15 shows of their first two seasons, twice.  I love British flicks—they use real-looking people, and they don’t try to make me believe that someone who looks like Brad Pitt or Megan Fox would live in a trailer park.

I also discovered that my house is dusty in places I never even thought to clean.

What’s more, I had time to ponder all sorts of really unimportant stuff, like: Why didn’t I buy a house without steps?  Why do I lose only expensive sunglasses?  How do keys multiply?  Why don’t deer ever cross at deer crossings?  And why do people listen to pompous celebrities like Al Gore and Alec Baldwin?

Finally, I learned that mononucleosis is abbreviated by folks as “mono” not out of brevity, but rather because “mono” means one, alone and single in Latin…because that is just what you discover: that you are alone and the single entity in your house when friends and family hear you have this illness, as it is highly contagious.

So what happens now? Do I return to the 100 mph routine, just as I had when I returned from Cancun?

I’m not sure, but I do know that I’m not as young, I’m not as stupid, and I’m not as resilient as I once was.

I long to announce, in one of those long, sing-song ways, “She’s back.”

But I can’t do that yet.  My energy is coming back, but my creativity and thinking are still muddled.  So, I guess I’ll just be content to say, “Hi friends” to all of you who waited patiently for me to post again.

Here’s to good health.

(And P.S.: Run in the other direction if you hear of mono in your vicinity!)