Sometime in the wee smalls of the morning I woke up convinced I had just had a conversation with my parents about whether I should call in sick. They were both in favor of it, and I was halfway through typing up a lesson plan when I suddenly realized that I was actually tangled up in my sheets, mumbling into Natasha’s fur. I still wasn’t sure whether or not it was a dream until I realized that my dad had been the one who answered the phone, and he was totally coherent, despite being 4:00 AM.
Definitely a dream.
While not as exciting as the time I had gotten sick in college, indulged in a M*A*S*H marathon, and proceeded to build a blanket tent in my dorm room for shelter against the bombs; I figured if a) I was too woosy to get to the bathroom without falling over (twice!), b) I was still sweating despite the fan I had aimed directly at the bed and the AC turned down to 70, and c) I was halfway through writing subplans in my sleep anyway, I better just throw in the towel and call in sick.
I blame this guy:
|The germs were wise to breed in this one….|
When not sleeping, my day has consisted of various juices, rice pudding, episodes of Doctor Who and Angel, and trying to pop my ears.
Sick days would be so nice if I weren’t, you know, sick.