So I got the Annual Report mostly done, except for a couple of sections. I thought that the dizziness and fatigue were caused by four days of staring at one year's worth of press releases and patient interviews, then staring at my computer screen.
Wrong, apparently. I've been home for two days, lying on the couch and trying to keep my eyes open. Last night, the backache hit. The inescapable conclusion is this: I'm sick.
Ick.
I'm not feeling particularly guilty about how much I stayed home. But tomorrow night is Friday night. And it's not just any Friday. It's First Friday -- the local downtown arts festival, and a friend of mine is showing some paintings in a small gallery. There's going to be an opening of Ed Ruscha works at another. And Mr. Swank himself, Shag, is supposed to be hanging out.
So this is when the things you learned as a kid come back to haunt you. Like, for instance, if you stay home from school you can't go out with your friends that night. It's simple logic. And I'm trapped by it at 37.
I still feel like crap on a cracker, but darn it -- I don't want to miss First Friday. So I guess I'm hauling my butt out of bed tomorrow and into the office.
Ick.
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