call divorce court

I’ve had it. Call Divorce Court; I’m not happy in this relationship anymore and I’m gettin’ out. This fever moved in without so much as a word, and took up residence acting like she owns the place. She doesn’t care about me or what I want, and I have a feeling she’s just using me as a warm body. So I’m filin’ papers, I’m done… I’m walking out on this one-sided relationship. It’s 2:30 and I’ve taken 3 doses of the antibiotic that was supposed to “make me feel a world better after just on dose,” and I’m still at 103 laid flat in front of the TV. Fast-forward a few hours and I’ve broken that last one, but still feel craptacular enough that I’m just a couple hours of feeling this way away from surrendering tomorrow’s workday. Tomorrow is Sharaun’s ultrasound and heartbeat appointment. I had planned to take an hour off in the afternoon anyway to attend, and regardless of how I feel I’m still going. Four days. That would make me out of work for four days. If it wasn’t me, if I was on the inside and someone else was out this long, I’d think they were either milking it or must have malaria or something. Four days is a long time to be out of work, especially considering I used up a Sunday “for free” as well.

Wrote that paragraph last night… but my my fever climbed to it’s second highest later on and I never got around to posting it. Thursday morning now and I’ve cautiously upgraded my condition to “feeling better.” No fever yet this morning, and I seem to have my strength back. I even went so far as to make some phone calls to key work folks, y’know – grease the skids before what I see as my imminent return for a hard Friday’s work. Later, I plan to sit down and tackle the e-mail that’s been piling up, see what emergencies I’ve missed and whether or not I should care about them. Being sick sucks, I hope the gods of sick recognize this as my “jury duty” for at least a couple years… the way I look at it, I’m paid up at least through 2007. I mean, half of the torture of being stuck in bed not being able to do anything is the list of things you’re not doing continually running through your head: the crabgrass you had big plans to hit with a second dose of poison and really finish off, finish painting the living room, work, etc. Stupid strep throat.

I’m outta here, don’t care if it sucks.