Cough, cough

The idea was that I would have a wonderful week with the family (check), then have two days at home in which to transition through end-of-holiday and traveling modes into work and normality, via laundry, groceries, etc, with long stops at reassure-the-cats.

Instead, I came home with a sore throat, and have been sick for four days now. The computer hasn't been turned on in 3. I had 51 e-mails waiting for me. I have been out of the house once in four days: I made a must-have-lotion-Kleenex run to CVS yesterday. Friends brought me a few emergency groceries before that, since I didn't even have milk in the house, but it's still pretty pathetic here chez lethargy. Let's not discuss how long it's taking me to type this, or how many mistakes I'm making.

The funny thing is, I never call in sick to work when I'm not sick, I'm kind of superstitious that way, but when I am sick, I feel like they ("They") don't believe me. It isn't just this job, I've always felt this way. And yet as a quasi-reasonable adult, I know that there's no point in going in and spreading around germs, and no point going in too soon and setting myself back. And I know that you can't set a time limit on how long you'll be sick and then declare it to be over: that's it, I've been sick long enough. But I keep thinking, I should go in tomorrow.

And part of me says yes, if you feel better.

But part of me thinks I should try anyway, even if I don't feel better. Though I know that's stupid.

Especially since my arms are getting tired just from leaning on the desk to type this. I think that may be a sign of someone who should not be driving a car, don't you?

I have to go lie down now. If one short and only semi-rational blog entry is wearing me out like this, I doubt I'll be at work tomorrow. Let's hope for a new year miracle, shall we?