For the last few days, I’ve had a cough like an old codger who smokes twenty a day and my anxious internet exploration told me I had bronchitis (ain’t nobody got time for that). I really didn’t have time for that, as I had loads to do at work and a mounting to do list of my own, but I felt worse with each day and there was no way I was going to make it to work.
The thought of phoning in sick gave me the fear and even though I was genuinely unwell, I always feel like those who phone in are perceived as chancers and so, in addition to my coughing and spluttering, I now had a case of the fear, as I tried to figure out what I was going to say. How ridiculous is that? I’m sure I’m not the only one terrified of calling in sick and I think the whole procedure is designed to put people off doing it in the first place.
After being wide awake from the crack of dawn, worrying away and watching the clock until it was time to phone, I finally plucked up the courage to make the call. Of course, it was no big deal and the person at the end of the phone went through the motions, asked the usual questions and wished me well. After I had made the call, I felt an enormous sense of relief and could get on with the important business of feeling sorry for myself and pyjama-lounging.
I then gubbed some vitamins and had a breakfast of brown toast, peanut butter, banana, flax, chia seeds and agave, to try and force myself back to health.
Although I felt awful, it was quite nice to slow down and take a wee day off from the world and as my man, Ferris, tells me: “Life moves pretty fast – if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Admittedly, my ‘looking around’ consisted of examining my pores, plucking my eyebrows and reading in the bath until the water went cold, but it was my day off and my soul feels all the better for it.