strike that

weak in review

I’ve been sick for six days with this achy fevery mess of a thing that went around my whole office. On the first day I denied it, because Jules had come through Portland on her way back from New Zealand, and it’s better to be well if you’re going to eat orange-flavored French toast and look for wooden boxes in old junk shops. That night it knocked me over. But I downed some Advil and propped myself up and went to the opera. I’m glad I did. I love the opera.

Sunday I don’t remember, except that I got myself soup and missed Elise’s baby shower. Sigh. Monday was a holiday so I just stayed in bed. By nighttime I made the unwise choice to grab dinner with VDay Boy, because my temperature had taken a promising dive below one hundred, and because he was about to leave for a two week trip. I didn’t want him to forget me, you know.

Tuesday I took a sick day, read and watched videos when it didn’t make my head hurt. Wednesday I went back to work. My boss looked at me skeptically. He’d had this, so he knew. At noon he said I’m going out to lunch, and you should be gone when I get back. He’s a good boss.

The fever’s gone now but the coughing part has arrived, and I don’t remember being sick for this long since college. It hasn’t been a bad sick – most of the time it’s felt like a totally manageable sick, the kind of sick you can work with. But every time I try to pretend I’m fine, it alters and comes on a bit worse.

So today I’m staying home, even though it hardly feels necessary. I’m going to lie here in my messy bed surrounded by books and empty Gatorade bottles, watching movies and instant messaging and thinking about the eclipse. I think Winter just wanted a little attention.

posted by tortaluga @ 10:20 AM