Still sicker than sick. Coughing till I’m blue in the face. Too tired to eat.
This last, despite sleeping 15 hours last night and the previous night. And if the cleaning lady weren’t holding forth I’d be asleep right now, too.
Hm. I hear she has a cough, too. I hope it’s not some different bug. Not needed just now: ANOTHER disease on top of the UTI and the bronchitis. Holy sh!t.
Please. Please please please PLEASE stay the fu!k at home when you’re sick! Just because you throw off every little virus as though it were nothing doesn’t mean everyone else does the same. For some of us, there’s no goddamn such thing as “just a little cold.” Keep your bug to yourself. Please.
The last time I was this sick was when I picked up a bug at a publishing conference at Stanford University. The magazine — Arizona Highways — had picked up the tab to send me to this three-week shindig, and it was one BIG fuckin deal. It was an incredible privilege, a fantastic opportunity, and a gigantic day-glo gold star on my résumé.
Or so it appeared. About three days after I got there, I came down with this…THING. One of the worst respiratory illnesses I’ve enjoyed since…oh, about the last three weeks. I had to pack up and come home, and then I was down and out for a good month. It took four months to recover from it.
That was an expensive bug. If I’d managed to go all the way through that course and come out with its certification, I would have ended up as the magazine’s editor after my boss retired. My immediate supervisor, then the managing editor, wasn’t interested in the editorship — he was just marking time until he could retire. If I’d had that Stanford publishing course, the Ph.D. and the years of magazine editorial experience and the two books in print (one of them on magazine journalism) would have made me a shoo-in for the senior editor’s job.
So…basically what happened there was some fool’s “just a little cold” deep-sixed my career.