Typical sickly behaviour for most people probably consists of popping a pill or two… or three if you’re some people I know, finding a place to flake out/fall over, and not moving until doing so doesn’t provoke pain of the head or other such body parts. Which… would make sense. Unless you’re me. Apparently, my typical (as in, apparently, since I just started doing so) behaviour is a little more… I wanna say productive, but stupid might be more appropriate. I’ve developed a slightly off recovery routine which consists primarily of:
- Realize something’s developing, flake out for a bit in the afternoon, figure it’ll go away eventually–that’s usually an accurate prediction.
- Come to the eventual acceptance, about half an hour before I have to leave for work, that going in tonight would just be all around not a good idea.
- Make the requisit phone calls to managers and others so they don’t fire my ass for just saying screw it, even though there are some people on my to call list I’d of preferred to say screw it to–I love my job, but nothing says corperation quite like the second thing some departments ask you after your name is your ID number and I was in no mood for corperate bullshit.
- Turn the hockey game on, try to sleep through the first period, give up on that after 15 minutes.
- Turn the hockey game off, try to sleep without the second period, realize it’s just not sleep time yet, apparently.
- Get fed up, turn the game back on, catch the score, then brag about it a little between periods. It’s at least let up a bit by now. Can’t undo the phone call, though.
- Half pay attention to the third period whilst making something to eat, stopping only to see the Senators miss a penalty shot–by the way, I’m not done rubbing it in yet… I have a list–figuring nothing else is working, maybe food will.
- Stand in front of my TV during the last 3 minutes of the third period, trying to decide if I feel any better or if I’ve just forgotten about it.
- Decide I do, in fact, feel a bit better, proceed to rub it in a little more that yes, as I predicted, the Sens *did* choke. Huge.
- Do a bit of blog hopping, discover a new blog or two to read, and rediscover some blogs I haven’t read in a while. Think about possibly sleeping again, don’t actually get there, of course.
- Look at the clock, 3:32. Shake my head, immediately regret shaking my head. Check the time again, yup, still 3:32.
- Contemplate taking the basket of clothes sitting at the end of my bed downstairs to the pot smelling basement for the purposes of washing them, decide since I’d be working anyway and therefore awake at this ungodly hour anyway, to do so.
- Come to two crutial realizations about this apartment building while taking my clothes to said pot smelling basement.
- At 4 in the morning, said pot smelling basement does not, in fact, smell like pot. Or the smell isn’t noticeable either because I’m used to it or because I’m still suffering whatever had me calling into work earlier and can’t notice it. Both are distinct possibilities and will require further pondering.
- Contrary to what I first thought, I am not the only fool still awake at 4 in the morning, as evidenced by the lady across the hall from the laundry room still having her TV on. I could hear it in the hall, which indicates she’s got it loud enough that if she were sleeping, she’d be in a coma. Good to know.
And here I am, should be sleeping, definitely should be working, and doing neither. Unless housework counts. Who needs a doctor? This prescription’s working awesome so far.
I was politely informed via IM a couple links on this here entry were busted. They weren’t when I wrote it. Links work now. Someone shall be beaten.