Fun With Disease

My wife is an innocent carrier, an unintentional disease vector. She brought home the miniscule critters that have laid low fully a third of the students at her school and gave them to me. Fortunately, all I’ve gotten out of it is a bad cold. More fortunately, she’s not even sick enough to miss work. So here I am at home playing hooky. Fun, huh?

First thing I did was drag all my toys upstairs where the wireless telephone headset is so I could participate in a 7am conference call. It was 4pm at the other end of the line where the friends we made last week spoke of schedules and milestones and gleefully handed me action items to close. After an hour of that I sat here reading work emails and cruising the web generally and wondering what’s so healthful about sitting at home as opposed to sitting in my little cubicle at work. Same activity level. Slightly better air at home.

I had buttered English muffins and English Breakfast Tea and a banana. Soiled and dampened nose tissues litter the tabletop. I have to pee and contemplate what I am going to do. Here are my plans:

Watch another few episodes of Tripping The Rift. I got both seasons on DVD last birthday. It’s neither well-written nor -acted nor -animated. But it has Six Of One, shown here holding an early prototype of the product I’ve been tripping the globe to develop. No more reasons to watch are needed on a slow sick-from-school-oh-yeah-work day.

Sit in the bathtub and read, just like when I was a kid. I need to finish this incredibly crappy book so I can write a qualified review at the author’s website. Man it’s bad. It hurts to turn every page. Hint: When you write your first book, don’t get a thesaurus, get an editor. Nobody involved with this amateurish garbage deserves anything they get from the curious fact it became a NYT bestseller. That, I still don’t get. It’s all marketing and markets. The writing means nothing anymore. Nothing, I tell you!

Do a smidgeon of work. But how likely is that, really?

Take a nap. Yesterday I took DayQuil^® and within an hour was fast asleep and stayed that way all afternoon. It didn’t make me any better but I did miss out on several hours of abject misery.

Let the chickens out of the coop so they can poop around the yard. I think I’ll do that first: it’s my chore for the day. They look happy doing it and the dog enjoys stalking them and herding them even though he never gets very close to them. Indeed, if they refuse to go back into the coop he’s likely to go in there himself, just so he can huff and puff at them through the fencing as he’s accustomed.

Consume scads of leftovers and other foods according to neither schedule nor reason but capricious whim and momentary convenience.

That will do for now. Ta-ta.