Fucking Protestants have a lot to answer for.

[babysimon]

So the weekend was cool enough - I would have been happier if I hadn't been composed of 65% snot but still. So I went into work this morning; the cold had improved but not gone by a long way. After trying to talk to one of my cow-orkers but only making monosyllabic grunting noises while swaying on my feet and sweating profusely he suggested that I might want to go home and chill. This seemed fair enough, except that today was meant to be kick-off day for my pet project (FOAM). Alistair also suggested that the world might not end if it started tomorrow.

So eventually, I went home and collapsed onto the sofa. And have been here ever since. But I've spent quite a lot of today feeling guilty about not being at work. Am I actually ill enough? How ill is ill enough to stay at home? I think my threshold must be higher than some other people's.

Other observations:

• Daytime TV has not improved since I was last off sick.
• Australian pervery has not yet arrived.
• There are lots of really stupid adverts on TV now - including one for Tucker the Robot Digger. Face even looks like Tucker's.
• I'm bored.

Comments

[stonehan.livejournal.com]

See, the trick is to borrow a dozen books from Katy and then go off sick. You will have sufficient reading material to wish you could stay home longer.

Plus, by plugging in my laptop and modem I have been forced to unplug the TV thereby saving the tiny part of my brain that is neither snot nor baby mush from becoming jelly.

Hurrah!