(no subject)

[gilana]

One of the things I hate about being a grownup is deciding for myself if I'm sick enough to stay home from work. The Mongolian Death Cold seems to have followed me home from London and walloped me yesterday. I left work a little early, fell asleep on the T home, and slept for about 13 hours. Now I feel a little less like I've been run over by a truck, but still incredible weak and tired. And it's pretty snowy out there. I don't know if I can manage the walk to the T, let alone have any energy left to work when I get there. And there's no place at work to lie down when I crash. But I've just taken two and a half weeks off -- it's hard to say in my first week back that I can't come in. Wah.