People are dropping like flies around me.  I’m surrounded by colds and flus and strep and stuff exiting from various orifices and the air is contaminated and no surface is safe to touch.  I’m washing my hands 1,364 times a day until my fingers are shriveled and the cuffs of my sleeves are wet in an attempt to stave off the big, bad bugs and the sneak-up-and-slap-you-in-the-back-of-the-head bugs and the starts-out-small-but-turns-deadly-just-like-Jim-Hensen bugs. 

I do not want to get sick.  I do not have time to be sick.  Sickness is for people who have written their holiday cards, finished their shopping, wrapped their gifts and done their baking.  Sickness is a luxury I cannot afford.  Sickness is for good little worker bees who have lots and lots of sick time accumulated because they only use it for--gasp!!-- sickness.  I am too busy to be sick.  Sickness would be wasted on me because I couldn’t even enjoy it, I’d have to keep on going and pretend I wasn’t sick. 

I cannot get sick in December, but if it’s absolutely necessary, I might be able to pencil in a couple sick days in January.  If I must.  Until then, if get sick I’m going to have to smack someone.

Posted by Kristina in Musings at 12:33 AM Permalink