I hate colds
Hate hate HATE them! (like anyone loves them, right?) Arrgh.
Felt one coming on Friday afternoon. I called John and said, “I think I’m getting sick. Maybe I shouldn’t come over.” Nooooooooooo, he said. “I don’t want to give you anything!” I protested. “You always get so much sicker than I do.” He insisted that he would catch colds from the office anyway, and he missed me and wanted me to come over. I probably should have stuck to my guns, but John was persistent. And dammit, I wanted to see him too.
So I spent the weekend at his place. We had to cancel our visit to my stepdad, though, which really bummed me out. But there was no way I’m going to expose a 95-year-old man to cold germs — that could kill him. So we did very little, just hung out. John took me out for comfort food: wonton soup, Japanese udon (noodles). Yesterday, I woke up with a raging headache and a ridiculous amount of pressure in my right ear, which kept popping as if I were on a plane. I told John I felt like my head was going to explode and my brains would come shooting out my ear. (Lovely imagery, huh?) Fortunately, as soon as I was able to eat something and take some Advil, the pain ebbed. John was worried about me. “The sparkle’s gone out of your eyes,” he said.
Came home; managed to get some sleep, despite middle-of-the-night coughing fits. But of course, seeing Steve is out of the question. So is the gym.
So let’s review: one crappy little germ is not only making me miserable, but it deprived my stepdad of his visit, will most likely make John sick as well, kept me from my Steve fix and won’t let me work out. What suckage! Steve wanted to know if he could bring some chicken soup or something and drop it off on my doorstep. But I don’t need anything; I went to the store yesterday and bought groceries. So I don’t want him bothering with that, although the offer was nice.
Here’s the good news: At least I don’t have to worry about calling in sick at a job and feeling guilty. This morning, I recalled a time about 20 years ago when I had gotten sick, then developed a secondary infection and had to miss about a week of work. Apparently, my boss had had to do all the proofreading, and they’d gotten swamped while I was gone.
When I finally came back, still feeling pretty weak, I was shocked at what I found at my desk. It looked like a cyclone had struck there. Everything was out of place, papers piled up all over, Post-it notes plastered everywhere. There were messy marked-up proofs strewn about, with my boss’s Post-its on them: “See what you missed while you were gone?” “See what we had to deal with?” Another note, written in angry slashes: “You are not allowed to get sick EVER AGAIN!” But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Our company “mascot” was a giraffe, as our slogan was “We’re heads above the rest!” So we all had a little giraffe plush toy for our desks. My desk was right in front of a window with blinds, and as I surveyed the wreckage, my eye fell on the blinds and my blood froze. My boss had taken my giraffe and cut through its neck, leaving just a small piece intact. Then she’d wrapped the blind cord around the giraffe’s semi-severed neck and left it hanging. And below that, another note was taped: “Yes, I got a little stressed out while you were gone.”
Say it with me, kids: What a psycho! And people wonder why I refuse to go back to office work.
So today, R & R. And hopefully quick recovery. I hope everyone had a nice weekend.