Dammit

I was anticipating losing my last few days of vacation - and my final opportunities to go riding - to the rain and cold that had been forecast for this weekend. The weather turned out to be better than expected, and imminently bikeable, but I was instead completely floored by a nasty head cold.

Since Thursday night, I've spent most of my time bedridden, alternating between drenching sweats and uncontrollable shivers, tormented at times by fever-driven nightmares. It got BeanSS too, as her time line of symptoms is about a day behind mine. We've both been shoveling myriad over-the-counter drugs down our (sore) throats but like they say, a cold will go away in seven days with treatment, and a week without it.

I feel pretty good at the moment, and I need to feel even better tomorrow, as it'll be my first day back at work in a month. I wasn't really looking forward to going back in the first place, but it would be even worse if I had to show up feeling like I have for the last few days. I do happen to have something like nine months of sick leave built up, but you know how it would look to tack a coupla' sick days on to an already-long vacation. My main concern is that I'm beyond the point where I could spread whatever it is that I have to my coworkers - small offices like the one in which I work can turn into typhoid wards in no time.

At any rate, I'm holding out some small hope that I can get out and maybe walk the dogs today. While BeanSS and I have been laid up, Clayton and Dora have been cooped up. Their several days' worth of nervous energy resulted in the total dismemberment of a plush toy in less than the time it took me to write this post. It makes me wonder what might happen if I were to fall into a Nyquil-induced torpor on the couch. I'll be risking dual shoulder dislocations and a possible death by dragging if I take them out before I feel 100%, but I think it's got to be done.