My chest hurts. I've been a bit too wheezy for a bit too long, and if I went to the doctor he'd give me some prednisone and then I'd feel better; but, nah. Not for this. Not in this weather, when I don't want to go out and he won't want to see me because the surgery will be overflowing with snotty kids and people who slipped on the ice. I'll get better magically all by myself, because that's how it works, oh yes.*
I might go to bed, though. I'm thinking about it. Except that that's kind of the ultimate work-evasion strategy, y'know? I spent much of my childhood being too sick to go to school; now I'm a grown-up, and it's kind of harder to convince myself.
And obviously I am not too sick to sit here and type. QED.
*Actually I do mean this. Nine times out of ten, it gets better. Time ten, it gets worse and I go to the doctor and he gives me prednisone.
I might go to bed, though. I'm thinking about it. Except that that's kind of the ultimate work-evasion strategy, y'know? I spent much of my childhood being too sick to go to school; now I'm a grown-up, and it's kind of harder to convince myself.
And obviously I am not too sick to sit here and type. QED.
*Actually I do mean this. Nine times out of ten, it gets better. Time ten, it gets worse and I go to the doctor and he gives me prednisone.