Sickie!

Heard of poetic justice? Well, it exists. Like when you call in sick to work two days in a row (that too when you only work two days a week) and then, the following week, you really do get sick. What to do then? Do you crawl in to work sniffling and sneezing, or do you pick up the phone and call again, hoping that they assume you are just some chronically ill wheeze? Or do you walk the eight blocks to work, sniffling and sneezing, and then return, having proved that you really are sick?

I chose the middle option, since I decided to get out of bed 10 minutes after I was supposed to have finished traversing the eight blocks (two of them avenue blocks, and frigging LONG!)

"Hi Evelyn," I said. "It's Inihtar."
Evelyn's good at curt responses over the phone.
"Hi," came the reply. "How are you?" but in a tone that really meant, "What is it now? What kind of lame excuse are you going to come up with for not coming to work today?"
"Ummm, not good. . . again."
Silence on the other end. What to do now? I decided to plunge ahead.
"I've had a cold and headache for the past couple of days," I told her hastily. "But I know that Leann wanted me to work on a piece today. So can I come in in the afternoon and work on it? Then I can get some sleep in the morning, and maybe feel better."
Did I really need to give her my symptoms, and my plan of action for getting rid of them? Didn't that make it sound more suspicious? You know, overcompensating. Why on earth do I feel so guilty, darnit? I AM sick. . . this time, anyway!
"Yeah, ok."
"Ok. See you then." And I hung up.
I should have just emailed her. But then, somehow, I felt that if I could drag myself to my computer, it would have made me seem well enough to go in to work. But then I had to drag myself to the computer to get her number anyway! Oh, the dilemnas of taking a sickie.
I'm going to go back to bed now, and my next post will state if I am still employed.