In My Bones

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I feel like I should come down with something.

I don’t feel unwell. I feel like I’m on the verge of being unwell. My head hurts and I’m tired, but I’ve set up camp in every town between Georgia and Texas and just got back to work without so much as eight hours’ rest, so I figure I”m entitled to a bit of a headache.

After all, I’ve been exposed to every germ in the Southeast. The flu has escalated to epidemic proportions. You’d think I’d have it by now. At least a cold. A little sniffle. Everyone at work caught something. Several families in my church caught something. Members of my extended family and AB’s extended family caught something. Surely, surely I have some kind of viral THING floating around in my veins.

If I do, it needs to show itself now, instead of later.

I could use a sick day. I could order school books online, or figure out my budget for the next year, or write thank-you notes or balance my checkbook, all of which are things I can’t do on the clock during my nine-hour days I’m working to make up for the hours I lost earlier this week.

I mean, I’d be sick, but hey, what’s a sniffle or two?

Perhaps all I really want, as usual, is an excuse to sleep.

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