I went to work on Friday, still sick. I have a weird thing about being sick and work, that no matter how sick I am, I should go into work. It has nothing to do with guilt either, it's more of a macho thing. You know, like I'm so tough that even though I have a104 degree temperature, puss coming out of my ears and pox marks all over my face, I'll still make it into work. I even take pride in it in a perverse sort of way. In fact, traditionally, most of my sick days have been more mental health days. There's a lot of three day weekends, trips to Tahoe, and various misadventures at water-slide parks on days that I was supposedly sick. My suspicion too is that I'm not the only one who feels that way. I know at my work, there's definitely a macho contest going on to see who can do the most work possible while dealing with working pneumonia. Which is probably why I always feel like I'm always constantly on the verge of being sick since I've been there.

In my working career, I have gone into work after tearing a knee and after various sprains and nearly-broken bones. I've gone in after not sleeping for days and right after visits to the hospital. I've been flu-ridden, allergy attacked, and miserably hung-over, but I've still somehow made it in. Can't say I've done my best work on those days, but damnit, I still made it in.

All of which is rather silly, actually. Cause is it better to be sick during the week, when all you lose out on is work or the weekend when all you lose out in is parties and hanging out with friends? I'm just wonderin' cause while I made it into work two out of three days I was sick, I'm spending my Saturday night writing this here blog, having bailed out on a party due to the fact that despite the fact I've slept for about 20 hours over the past 36 hours, I still can't swallow anything without feeling like I'm swallowing glass.