Good at counting.

Truly. I get caught up in doing what people tell me to do. Ruled by my superego and need to let the id out to play more. If I ascribed to that kind of stuff. And even though my CBT heart cries out against it, I totally do. Freud is such a cheeky bastard (and I never knew his middle name was Schlomo. Kind of liking him a little more now).

I've been a bad blog parent, as Bum has gently reminded me. The neglect is shameful. All my energy has been spent on fighting off a cold (which I've been kind of successful at. Though I think I may be OD-ing on B-12, Vitamin C and zinc), panicking about my dissertation and then panicking again about a huge presentation I have to give at work. With PowerPoint. In front of people. With eyes. Who will ask questions. That I will have to answer. And not run off crying. Or swearing. Or using rampant italics.

I'm just not comfortable with that.

Plague.

I'm sick. Again. I had about 10 days where I was healthy! And well! And producing human amounts of snot. Ahhh....memories.

I was more or less sent home yesterday by my supervisor. Mostly because she didn't want to be around me and my germs. It's all about the empathic sympathy, man. Actually, it may have something to do with the fact that I probably looked like I was going to pass out in the hallway. Which would have been interesting. Because I would always be known as the intern that passed out in the hallway. I am all about collecting the titles.

I took today off because I woke up and realized I probably should not be around people right now. Also because my head hurt and I haven't been able to regulate my temperature (because that's definitely a conscious thing I can control) and didn't want to sit in my office playing with the thermostat all day long.

So here's the thing. When you are a grown up, sick days suck. Because you can't really enjoy them. Can't enjoy the afternoon sunlight sighing through the shades - because you are too busy blowing the nose and coughing up disgusting things. Can't enjoy being able to sleep in - because your head hurts and you can't really sleep and you cough and wake yourself up too often. Can't use the time to be productive and get important things done - because your head feels swirly and can't concentrate.

Yup. I pine for my youth when sick days rocked.

Oh, and you say it's Valentine's? I suppose my festive thing was to watch Chocolat while trying to sleep and then make myself cocoa.

Damn that Juliette Binoche and her "rancid cinnamon."

Oof.

I'm sick.

Again.

The good news: it's probably not the Strep C I had for a while (read: forever).

The bad news: there's not enough Sudafed in the world to get me through tomorrow.