Sick

I’m flat out sick. Yes, Dear, we are aware of your condition. Why, then, are you not resting? I will later on. I just got up anyway. So, you are not sick enough right now to require bed rest. No. I’m just pokey. Pokey? What is pokey? My throat hurts high up. I can’t see so good. I think my glands are swollen. My boob itches. What else? You are giving an entire list of your condition? Yes. Well, you are going to need to move your bowels in a minute or two. You don’t have to be crude. Well, you were the one who mentioned your boob itching. I know. I think I might be flushed.

I told Dennis unless I’m on my deathbed tomorrow I’m going to have to go to work. He’s going to do the laundry this morning so I don’t have to worry about that. It’s times like this that I wish I had a job I could take time off if I’m sick. I know if it was bad enough that I was in the hospital they’d all just have to go hoot and I’d be out of the picture, but for a normal (oh, I hate being sick) cold I have to drag my butt into work. I think J must have given me her cold. She was sick and dragged her butt into work last week.

I wonder how long a cold germ lasts when it gets stuck to office paperwork?