deathpixie | Nov. 1st, 2003

I went to work yesterday - apparently that was a Bad Idea, according to my body. So it decided to come over all faint and weird in the restaurant we'd gone to in order to farewell Julian, my supervisor, who is off to Melbourne Magistrates' Court just in time for the work bans and many annoyed people. The upshot of said wooziness in public is that I a) snarled at one of my co-workers, who seems to find amusement in testing my martial arts reflexes by tossing random punches towards my face; and b) got my arse sent home for the rest of the day. Where I promptly set up camp on the couch, watched about two episodes of Angel and then passed out until about 8.30, waking to a dark flat and having to stumble around finding food that would sit adequately in my stomach.

Have I mentioned how much I hate being sick?

I don't have time for this. There is stuff I need to get done, like training for this damned ride next weekend (as it is I'm going to slow them down drastically and they're going to hate me) and getting Auscon sorted. But no, my system has decided to trap me on the couch for the weekend and make me feel utterly shitty. *growls* Although I am going out with Michael tonight. There's no way I'm missing out on my first date in years just because my immune system can't handle some puny little virus. I am, however, going to be good and not stay out too late, and probably not even kiss him, since I have a coldsore (courtesy of blowing my nose for the past four days straight) and I don't really want to infect him with that particular virus on the first date.

So yeah, not happy, Jan. Really not happy. Us control freaks don't like it when control is in the hands of a micro-organism that isn't really alive in the usual sense, simply hitching a ride on othehr cells. Damn virii.