That's right, friends. I'm poorly. I'm feeble. I'm struck down with a mysterious malaise.
I find sick days intolerable. I'm incapable of "resting". I'm not good at "putting my feet up". Unless I'm perfectly well and have a load of things to do, that is. Then, I'm perfectly capable of sitting on my rump and watching an entire season of Prison Break in a day.
When I'm ill, things get reorganised. I've got a load of laundry in as we speak. I've scanned in a work document to send off to a consultant and drafted the email to go along with it. I'm looking at a pile of folded clothes with a spark of initiative in my eye. It's half eight in the morning. *sigh*
It's not so mysterious, to be fair. Last night saw myself and the BFG in the pub with a laptop and headphone splitters to watch Going Postal. Pub food ensued, and it all tasted great going down... won't go into detail with where that sentence went in my head. Suffice it to say, I'm not well. To add insult to injury, the BFG is totally fine. Bastard.
So, in the interest of getting back to normal, I'm going to go eat a piece of toast and hope it stays where I put it. If it does, I'll be at work by noon. Send me happy non-vomitous vibes. x