I woke up feeling hot and cold and hungry and nauseous and the soap hurt my skin in the shower, but I popped a couple of painkillers and bravely made my my way to the bus stop. I rarely feel so determined to get to the office in the morning, and I should have taken my strong drive as a sign that all was not right with me. Instead, I suffered an oily sweat all the way to my cubicle and then spent two-and-a-half hours staring into the middle distance, occasionally becoming aware enough to take a few sips of coffee and kick my computer out of sleep mode.
At about 10:45 am, I found myself hovering over a filing cabinet drawer wondering what came after the letter K. I decided that the green file folders were the nicest. I picked absently at a self-adhesive label and wondered where that packing tape smell was coming from. A voice snapped my mind out of the filing cabinet.
How are doing? Are you alright?
- Huh? What?
You're just standing there. Are you okay?
- Oh, no. I'm not too well.
I put down my filing, walked into my boss' office, and told her that I didn't know how long I could make it through the day. Then I turned around, shut down my computer, and immediately went out to catch the nearest bus.
I am proud to say that I managed not to spew human waste of any kind out of either of my ends for the duration of the trip no matter how many sharp turns or bumps there were, and at least one other person on the bus looked clammier than I did.
As soon as I got home, I took my mind off the struggle to keep my water down with a quick redesign of this site, and then it was time for some television. We have four channels, one of which is in french and another has intolerable reception, so I ended up watching the upper end of Jerry Springer offshoots, "Dr. Phil". Keep in mind that the following picture is of one of our two channels with better reception, and this outcome is with the help of rabbit ears.
My nausea abated for a while, so I ate my usual sick day food, potato chips with onion dip. I always regret it, but my fever tells me it's a good idea at the time. I can barely look at this photo now. Yech.
But there was something good today! I am now the proud owner of what I call my Pirate Shoes.
I ordered them in from a small goth store a couple of weeks ago. They had other pairs with songbirds or cherries or roses on them, but I had to have the ones with the skull and crossbones . . .
. . . AND A PINK BOW. They're genius.
I promised that I would give credit where credit is due, so here's how they got into my hot little hands: the Fiery One remembered the order I had placed and swung by the store to pick them up for me as a surprise when I didn't even know they had arrived yet. Sweet, no? Some days he is so much nicer than I am that I feel like I should be taking notes and maybe at least attempt to extend myself once in a while, but then I think Why go against the grain?
I wore them to work today, because I love them so much that I convinced myself that they were totally office appropriate. The only problem was that I chose a particular pair of pants to wear them with. The particular pair of pants in question actually have a staple through the hem, because I am too lazy to fix the damn things (curses cheap Gap thread!), so every time one of my co-workers bent down to get a better look at the detailing on my shoes, the staple would glint under the fluorescent lights.
Um, do you know that you have a staple in your pants? was said to me at least three times, and each time they laughed. I know that almost anything involving the word pants is bound to get a giggle, but I didn't know that a staple in one's pants was found so universally comedic.
Yes. I do know, I replied during one of these interactions. It's one of my favourite accessories. I save the coloured staples for the holidays. This was not followed by laughter. I am so underappreciated. I tried to make a funny, albeit with a missing "pants", and no one has the decency to even crack a grin.
I am now going to crawl back onto that couch and watch the bright-coloured light dance on our television. It makes everyone look as though they are made of plasticine. Really, our television set makes a mockery of the medium.
Places I've read recently: Bathtub Adventurer, whaling season, and I am still on 25peeps.com and would be pleased as punch if you would ever so kindly click on that link. It's like flash popularity at recess.