saffronhare

Last week, I had a really rotten cold that I had to work through because of some pretty damn important client visits and the performances that were necessary. Good enough. I took care of myself and felt good enough that I worked a full day on Friday instead of coming home at noon.

Mistake.

On Saturday,

triadruid had said in kindness, "You look tired, honey." I scoffed, said I was fine and carried on with the assorted de-glossing and painting projects I was enjoying so much.

Mistake.

Felt well enough, despite a mild headache and some stuffiness, to go to Faire on Sunday. 'Twas fabulous. Decided to crawl into bed instead of going to Dionysia. Finally -- she gets a clue!

Felt so crappy that I called in sick to work and stayed in bed. Denied that I needed to call the doctor, claiming that rest would be best.

Mistake. Are you counting with me, now?

Went to bed at dinnertime and woke up feeling hungry and social a few hours later, so I got up to eat and watched some TV with

agrnmn and

zylch instead of going right back to bed.

Mistake.

This morning was even more crappier yet. Called work again. Called the doctor, who examined me and pronounced that I had the "hat trick" of upper respiratory infections. I also officially weigh more now than I did when I was 9 months pregnant with Princess Boredom. Yay, me. Raging sinus infection, double ear infections and the beginnings of bronchitis.

This is fair warning that I am not a Good Patient. I am coping with heavy use of sarcasm and anger rather than tears and pathos. Any inquiries about my health will likely be met with resentment and curses. The ever-patient

agrnmn and

zylch are plotting ways to increase my consitution, but they're doing so from beyond my reach. They are wildly amused by this, and I'm sure I will love them for it enough to give them nice funerals.

I have been refusing to answer the phone. Please don't take it personally. I need more flannel. Grump out.