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1999-12-15 Billy, don't be a hero. Of course, I had to go and be a hero. No-no, I'll work today. No-no, I can finish the jobs I started on Monday. No-no, I'm not tired and sick, even though everyone walking by asks if I'm really doing better, and that I really don't look well enough to be here. Do I look that bad? I can't tell. Eyes too tired and bloodshot to see in the mirror properly. Wait...I have to blow my nose for the fiftieth time this hour. Please kill me. Apparantly quite a number of people missed the luncheon. At least two of us were sick, and at least one "naughty little child" didn't go. This was after my sort-of-boss called and woke me up at home (after I had left an "I'm-sick" voicemail) to ask who I was supposed to give a present to and if I had the thing ready yet and how was I going to get it to him at the restaurant this afternoon because it would "look funny if he didn't get a gift." The mother of all run on sentences there still doesn't give justice to her level of consternation at having her event spoiled by a little thing like the flu. How can I get his present to him? I dunno...I'll just use my telekinetic abilities to...no, not working. Must have the wrong pajamas today. Why don't you call a courier service, I suggest, being sarcastic (I thought.) Within 45 minutes the messenger had retreived a small gold-wrapped $20 present in a plastic bag and was taking it across town, at the company's expense. I'm drinking lots and lots of tea. I'm beginning to feel like Boston Harbor. But only if the harbor had a natural and enormous spout of mucus, and whined a lot about it. The boyfriend came by and was here far too late, napping on my bed while I looked for Christmas presents for him online. So he was sleepy tonight when I talked to him. And I'm congested and therefore not really talkative either. So he went to bed. I'd like to be sleeping next to him. But I will feel better by this weekend. He wants to make Gingerbread cookies and have a pre-holiday domestic evening...uh-oh. I knew that encouraging his Christmas Dreaminess would be trouble, but I had no idea. How am I supposed to be mean and tough while baking Gingerbread? How counterculture could I really be if...it actually sounds like fun to do that with him? Maybe I will paint my Christmas tree black... :-) _Casey
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
