I hate being sick.
I wouldn't mind staying home if I didn't just lay around all day.
I wouldn't mind taking time off if that I meant I got paid for it.
I wouldn't mind playing hooky if it meant Jeff was there.
But here I am, at home, unpaid and lonely. I've read the books I want to read until it got too dark in our living room sans light. I watched the movies I hadn't seen (note to self - it's ok that you wanted to see what the buzz was about. You just didn't like There Will Be Blood. Get over it) I watched Maury and Oprah and Jeopardy. I don't feel any better.
I start to think about school. How much would I love to quit working and go back full time. But I'd have to give up my car and learn the fantastic public transit system we have. I'm afraid.
I think about the money I'm not making at this particular moment. My checks are small enough.
I don't feel any better. In bed that night, pressure on my right side subsides as I flip over and it starts in on my left side. My nose is running, I'm sure of it. If I could only fall asleep, my headache would quit. If only my headache would quit I could fall asleep.
I'm so getting expensive espresso tomorrow. That will cure it.