I haven’t taken a sick day at work in probably two years, but around 5 p.m. yesterday, it began to seem inevitable. I’ve been a little droopy all week, but at 5 my voice suddenly started cracking and squeaking, and my attempts at a nap were interrupted by coughing and sniffing. Slept poorly last night, and on waking, called in (well, wrote-in) sick. I zoned
I’d planned to make a big indian dinner for Kate and John and Mike and me: I’ve got doughballs for naan in the fridge along with a batch of paneer I made, and I’ve got all the ingredients for chana masala and matar paneer, just waiting for me in the kitchen. Besides feeling shitty, it’s bothering me (a little) that I’m not Doing Something Productive with the time I’ve got… instead, I’ve stared blankly at two movies (The Conversation, which was pretty good, and Primer , which is not a movie to watch when sick and falling asleep), finished the last pages of “A Storm of Swords”, eaten a bowl of hot and sour soup John was kind enough to bring me, and napped for about four hours this afternoon.
Kate just called to say she’s coming home and we’re going to make indian food together! I recognize that it’s a little goofy to be so hung up on making the dinner I’d intended to make, but it’s pleasing, somehow.