I hate sick days

I hate sick days. I really do. They're so useless, mainly because when I'm home sick, I really am home sick, due to this annoying work ethic that I had bred into me that it's unacceptable to fake a sickie just for the hell of it. Thanks a bunch, mother.

It's 4 p.m. and this is the first time I've been vertical, other than to get something to eat or to go pee. Laryngitis, brought on by a wetting in the rain I got on Saturday while taking my kids to parade at the Kiddies carnival. (You can read more about that fine fiasco here.)

So here I am, home alone, kids where they belong, Rawle where he belongs, all the time in the world. I should be writing. Walking the dog. Watching baby daddy drama on Maury. But I'm too sick to do any of the above. Barely well enough to be coherent.

Damn sick days.