I'm all for this caring and sharing lark, but not so enamoured with the sharing of germs and not caring who you infect. Being not completely well is not a state I take to lightly. I don't enjoy finding it hard to breathe, or having to blow my nose repeatedly, or feel groggy, lethargic and weighed down by my own body's efforts to win a bacterial war with whatever dastardly virus has deigned to infect me. My very bones aching, giving me unwanted appreciation of my deteriorating years.
No. Don't like it one bit.
I suppose however, that all the things I have mentioned above are the result of my body fighting the infection. The symptoms present, as it were, from my immune system waging war. The alternative, when you put it like that is pretty clear.
Let your body, your immune system do its thing. Help it if you can. But don't bitch when it's literally trying to save your life that you feel a tad uncomfortable.
I've felt progressively shit since about Sunday. Today I rounded the corner. Having woken up in a similar state of dread and lethargy as the previous day, I am actually surprised to find that I am as well as I am this evening. This simple, and silly things that our mothers tell us, we ignore at our peril. Get some rest. Drink lots of fluids. Eat fruit. Have soup.
I have done all of these, though not probably in that order (eating soup whilst asleep is not to be recommended, and most Doctors, in fact would strongly advise against it). Monday night I went to bed at 8:30pm. I haven't been to bed that early since I was nine years old. Okay, I haven't been to bed that early, alone, since I was nine years old.
Hot blackcurrant drink, cold / flu paracetamol, hot chicken soup, marmite toast... and fruit. Yes fruit. Ah the daily banana. All these things, and despite that part of me each of the last two mornings saying 'go back to bed, ring in sick... nice warm bed...' I haven't done so. I have to be honest the thought of getting into trouble at work was not the motivation for deciding not to wimp out.
I just hate, hate, hate, hate, daytime television. I can be miserable and ill at work, I don't need to limit that state to the flat. It's hardly fair on the cats now is it.
My daughter asked yesterday if her friend could stay over at the weekend. I am glad that I am recovered(ing). I never had sleepovers when I was a kid. No one other than someone I was related to stayed over at my house. My childhood was much the poorer for it, I think.
The recovery also means that I was probably right to cancel the JFDI filming slot I had planned for tonight, but that I am healthy enough to go to Beacon for start of filming of 'Prime Directive'. Not that I have learned any of my lines.
I have however taken great pains to highlight some of them on the kindle app on my ipad. Surprisingly useful for line learning.
I've found the week a mix bag of elation, excitement, tedium and excrement so far. Monday being the high point, where I purposely did not turn on my computer until the afternoon, asking one of the other managers to get all the morning stats n shit off for me. I find it all too easy to get caught up with the minutia of endless shite that is my email inbox at work. There really never is an end to it, and it gets me frustrated. Frustrated because what I really, really, love doing is spending time out with my team. Quality time helping and praising my team. They really are a lovely bunch, and I absolutely love them for what they do, and who they are. I just hate all the bullshit stuff that stops me spending more time with them.
Strangely all the stuff that comes with being a manager, stops you being a manager.