March 15th, 2005

What's New Pussy Cat

Long, Lost Weekend

Well. Those were 4 days I'll never see again.

It started on Wednesday, with that familiar tingle at the back of my throat - you know, the one that tickles, only not really; that usually precedes a cold, but not always - yeah, that one.

I actually paid it some heed, which is unusual; normally I only notice little changes in my body in retrospect. I popped vitamins like Laura pops candy, but this time anyway, 17 or 20 grams of C over 36 hours was not enough to repel that barbarian horde.

Friday found me awake early, feeling worse, but determined to carry on. Maybe if I refused to get sick; or, if I was sick already, if I refused to admit I was sick ...

I did some cleaning and laundry in preparation for Saturday's festivities, which chores found me late to work and, worse, already exhausted. Without the energy that had roused me from bed, inertia was dragging me back to it.

By 11:00 I put my phone on hold and mumbled something to Ann about being back shortly.

We have some unused space at the office, relic of our small part in the GreatInterWebBubble of 2000[tm], when my outfit had 3 times the staff. Among the furniture relegated to that space is a long couch. Still wearing my parka (I didn't take it off until I returned home and wrapped myself in bed, shivering in shirt, robe, sheet and down-filled duvet, not to mention a brace of felines desperate to share my bed), I lay down and closed my eyes, thinking a nap might give me the energy to carry on.

I doubt it would have, but in any case, the not-so-comfortable seat, the lack of another parka or two, and the strange (to a wannabe sleeper) sounds from within the building precluded slumber.

I tried a couple of times, even forced myself to have lunch. At about 2:30 I shut down my computer and said to Ann, "I gotta go home", then shuffled out the door, down the steel steps and into the cold toward Queen Street - where the streetcars weren't running. I shuffled all the way to Bathurst before it occurred to me that one of the reasons I have a job is so that I can take a cab home when I'm feeling half-way to death's door.

Laura woke me around 4:30. I heard the key in the lock and rasped a greeting. She entered the room bouncing like a young woman who had had 2 cappucinos too many - which was what she was. She managed to keep me awake until 7:30 or 8:00, at which point I flaked out again.

Long story short, though I woke every couple of hours to give and take liquid, I slept until noon or so. Laura brought me soup and did her best to endure my crankiness. She left around 5 and by 8:00 or so I returned to bed.

Sunday and Monday were more of the same, though I could feel my strength gradually returning. When I awoke this morning, it was not yet 5:00, but I knew there was no return to slumber. My throat is still scratchy, but the dishes are clean and I feel alive again.

Sorry again for the cancelled party, folks. How's early April strike you all? Would a Friday be better than a Saturday?

Meanwhile, if you click the cut, you'll see that not all my sick-time was wasted. Collapse )