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Spent the Day Abed

Was feeling ill by late yesterday afternoon. Sore thoat, malaise, a little nauseated, that kind of thing. Drinking a lot of fluids but my throat felt parched. Got up this morning to work and added lots of aching joints, especially my back and hand, to my list of problems. Got dressed for work, hit the first meeting. 

By 7:15, I knew I was not well. Now I faced my choice. Work ill or take a sick day? I know I'm always quick to tell others, take the sick day. It's no big deal. Yet I'm not so quick to use my own advice. I'm fortunate; I have sick days and I'm salaried. Being off sick would not affect my income. My schedule was light, as expected being the last week of sales. But I had plans of things to do, some of it carried forward from Friday, when my plans then fell afoul of computer updates.

So I did it. Accepting a ration of guilt and despising myself for not being stronger, I sent off an I am sick email and went back to bed.

The I am sick email always challenges me.  I feel like I'm begging or pleading for sympathy or help. How much should I say? Should I provide symptoms as proof of illness? I've gone both ways on it. I'm not looking for sympathy with it but I do want understanding that I really am sick and not just goofing off. 

I returned to bed somewhere around 7:30, as my wife hadn't left for her exercise class. I slept. Dreamless.  I didn't notice much of what happened around me. Cats came and visited, talking to me and checking on me but still I slept, until 1:45. My wife had made a fritatta so I had a piece of that and some water, then returned to bed. By then I was feeling decent, not so nauseated, throat no longer hurting, joint pain almost gone. After more sleeping, I felt I could get up. By then it was 3:30. 

Now here's the thing. By then it was 3:30. I'd missed work. I was sick. I was feeling better. It was after work hours and I wanted to write -- I needed to write. Yet, of course, I felt guilty. I'd missed work. I'd spend the day abed, like a child. How dare I know feel better.

There's nothing to be done about it. I was sick and missed work. Now I'm better and I'm up, off to do my writing. Accept it. Get over it. It is the way it is. Yet part of me says, go to work. Appease the guilt.

Attone for the missing work. 

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