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I'm just going to come out and say it. Getting sick is the worst. Combine that with a uterus that won't quit, and you've got a fiesta of infirmity with a generous sprinkling of hormonal imbalance.
I wound up with a 103° fever yesterday. Completely out of the blue. I mean, it might have to do something with the fact that I've been chugging cola like water. Come to think of it, I've probably had more cola than water this past month. But hey, everybody is allowed a vice. Or ten. Anyway, these thirty-six hours haven't been fun, to say the least. That's not even the sad part. An hour before I went down yesterday, I readily accepted an interview invite for this morning.
While I'm an ardent advocate of work-life harmony, and I fully realise nothing comes over health, I'm also a proponent of dealing with things at the earliest, especially if they are stressful. So, even as I called in sick today, I tuned into my interview call. I'd point out the hypocrisy, but why bother? Unsurprisingly, it could've been better. But it could've been worse too.
The real win here though is how I'm not absolutely racked with guilt, misery or regret over it (yet). Two years ago, unwell or otherwise, I'd beat myself up all week long for tanking an interview. I don't know, maybe I still will, once the fever delirium subsides. But baby steps, no? I'll take this win.
The screen isn't helping my headache, I should probably get to bed. Until then, I'll keep an eye out for light, love and sick privileges. One more rant on how irresponsible I am about my health though, and you're out. Okay thanks, later.