I’m home today, nursing a cold.
As my colds always seem to, this one heralded itself with a scratchy throat mid-afternoon yesterday. And as I always seem to, I shrugged it off as some random throaty soreness, perhaps a delayed reaction to casino smoke, or perhaps drinking too much coffee and not enough water.
But by the evening I was getting congested, and by 9:30 I was feeling decidedly tired. So I went to bed at 10 with Debbi after taking some Nyquil.
This morning my throat was still sore and I was still congested, so I called in sick. No sense in getting all my co-workers sick, too. This feels like it will be a relatively mild one, so I hope to be back at work tomorrow. (A far cry from bygone days when I’d sit through a whole fantasy baseball draft while sorely beset by a cold. Ugh, I can’t believe I did that.) More to the point I’ll hopefully be healthy for my and Debbi’s anniversary dinner tomorrow night.
Anyway, I’ll be ensconced on the couch for most of the day, I expect. Which isn’t a bad thing since I have The Iron Dragon’s Daughter to finish, and then Alastair Reynolds’ new one to read.
I seem to get sick every spring, usually when the weather changes. This one faked me out by arriving a few weeks late, though.