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aborted workday
Monday, January 25 1999
Cold rain was falling this morning as the alarm went off. I struggled to my feet despite the depth of my sickness, took a shower, put on some clothes, and prepared for work. I then called Al and arranged to have him pick me up.
I was actually fairly effective at getting things done in the workplace, despite my lack of energy, fever, body aches, sore throat and occasional deeply-rooted coughs. Kim had arranged to pick me up at 2:30pm, so I knew that (unlike on most days) there was a definite cutoff point past which the workplace torture would definitely cease.
On the ride home, the cold dreariness of the day somehow worked itself inside my body and chilled me profoundly. The first thing I did when I got home was take a bath.
From then on, for many cycles, I found myself alternately coiled up into a ball under the covers convinced that I was freezing to death only to awaken from disturbing dreams to find myself soaking in sweat-drenched bed clothes. Annoyingly ineffectual involuntary half-coughs soon gave way to a deeper kind, delivering quarter-sized plugs of olive-green phlegm.
Kim was most indulgent with me, but there was little I wanted to do except take an occasional bath, drink juice & tea and swallow pain medication. I couldn't read, write, eat or think about sex.
At some point in my delirium I remember picturing rock videos done like web pages, with the colour schemes changing to the lyrics: "All straights are gay!" (Blue theme changes to pink.)
At one point in the night, my delirium converted the sweat-soaked blankets and mattress around me into a military foxhole. Suddenly I had the frustratingly impossible job of guarding a dangerous frontline artillery position.
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