Why is it that I can have all the conditions I do, and yet nothing lays me out like a simple sinus infection? Granted, there's a deviated septum and chronic rhinitis (nice name) on my chart, but it's always been this way. When Mrs. Lucky gets a cold, I always end up getting a week's worth of congestion, and all I want to do is get under the covers and speed up time.
When I was working in Cubeville, I used to be one of those people who dreaded calling in sick. I'd read all kinds of judgment into the boss's "Okay, get some rest. We'll see you when you get well." "We'll see you when you get well...at which time we'll introduce you to your replacement," I'd hear, or "Uh...huh. Oh-kay. Have fun being sick, then."
All throughout my self-employed, and now disabled, lives, I've had a sort of creeping paranoia left over from those days. Some lingering fear that by taking care of myself for a few days until I get better, I'm ignoring some major responsibility that I just don't remember.
I guess some things never leave your psyche.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed.
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