I am sick, Diaryland. Not even the fun, get a day off from work kind of sick. I’m the curl up in a ball and wish it would all be over soon one way or another kind of sick.
I was miserable enough yesterday that I actually let Kirk take me to Urgent Care yesterday. My barking, wet, gravelly cough scared even me, and three days of 101 degree plus temps every time the Advil wore off was just too much.
Blergh.
So they gave me an antibiotic (Levaquin, which the PA will kill any beastie in my system) for the infection and an albuterol inhaler for the cough. I *might* be feeling a little better this morning. Crossing my fingers.
I’ve also been excused from work until after Wednesday. When your boss is 85 and the majority of your clientele are retirement-age and above, you don’t go to work when you have the plague!
My job is one of the many things that has changed in my Diaryland absence. These days, I am half of a two-person team in the veterans’ services office in my town. I only work about 18 hours/week, generally spread over three days. It’s a job where every day, I do something that makes someone else’s life better, and that makes me happy. It feeds my soul.
More on why that change was necessary a different day. The Saga of Will and School, which is also the story of how I became extremely well versed in special education law, an alphabet soup of diagnoses, and phrases like “therapeutic milieu,” needs to be told when I am a little less under the weather.
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