Let me state for the record, it is rare that I get sick. Maybe it is because I limit my time with the human race or perhaps my immune system is a rock star. Whatever it is, I love it. Except my immune system apparently is a cheating whore because she seems to have gotten involved with a nasty germ. Bitch.
I pushed through like the little trooper that I am. Continuing to revise on Saturday and was set to repeat that schedule on Sunday until I was forced to “call in” sick. I know you are probably wondering who I would have to call in to, since I am a writer and work alone. See, that is where you are wrong. Those characters that have been woven into my brain had a private meeting without me. They thought it would be “best” if I stepped out of the revision process because they are worried I will get them all sick. Whatever. The little men with their ice picks where chiseling at my brain while my cough sounded like I have been smoking Marlboro cigarettes for fifty years. Total bliss.
So I took a forced sick day where I resided in bed with the book of day, surrounded by two Basset hounds and a pound of tissues. My family was especially nice to me. Catering to my needs. Probably because they didn’t want to experience my wrath. Fun fact, I am not a delight when I don’t feel well. You are probably stunned. Totally understand, since I normally rival the temperament of Mother Teresa.
This morning, I am feeling 75 percent better. The little men with their ice picks have moved on to another victim while my cough still sounds like I smoke, but only for twenty-five years instead of fifty. Progress, my friends. I just hope my “coworkers” are cool with me coming back to work today. They are really a picky bunch.
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