And How Was Your Day?

I woke at 1:09 a.m. feeling sick. Not just a headache, not just a jumpy stomach. It was full-blown sick, and I thanked God that my bedroom is actually a master suite with its own bathroom, just fifteen short feet away. No need to bother with a robe or worrying about waking Julie.

After praying in short bursts to the porcelain god for a half hour and seeing my supper make a round-trip, I sat on the cool floor and waited for it to subside.

It didn't.

I found myself praying, too, that it wasn't that bullshit killer flu that's going around. Joe, who works in the front office with me, spent several days shuttling between work, home, and the hospital because both of his young sons have had it. Ron, our new sales guy, was sick for a week.

Now, I have a compromised immune system, and my family calls me "Bubble Boy." I was born that way, and I've gotten used to diligently avoiding viral and bacterial infection at all cost. I'm not always successful, and when I do get an infection I'm down for the count. I was off work for two weeks in January with an upper-respiratory infection that had set up camp and claimed squatter's rights; and in the process I used up all of my sick days for the year.

So you can see why I was praying that I didn't have the flu.

At 2:00 I decided that a hot bath might make me feel better, so I filled the tub and grabbed the book I'm currently reading for the third time ("The Family", by Mario Puzo).

I read 72 pages without having to jump out of the tub to hurl again, so I toweled off and went back to bed. By this time I was completely exhausted but my alarm would be going off in less than two hours. I wasn't going to be much good at work, and I couldn't call in sick, no matter how shitty I felt.

After hitting the snooze bar a few times, I dragged myself out of bed at 6:15 and stood in the shower for twenty-five minutes. I wasn't puking anymore but I felt like someone had filled my intestines with ice water. To say that the feeling was not nice is an understatement.

I dressed, wishing for the millionth time that I could wear this to work instead of this. I checked my messenger bag to make sure I had my wallet, meds, outgoing mail, cell phone, and every other thing I can't go the day without, and left the apartment.

I got sick on the way to work. It sucked.

My day was spent staring at my monitor and watching the clock. I'm sure that I must have accomplished something today, but I can't honestly tell you what it was.

At 4:30 I switched my phone over to voicemail and drove home. I fed the cats, who are sweet to begin with but always give me special consideration when I'm not feeling well, and went to my room to change.

And as I was brushing my teeth I noticed a zit.