I’ve got the flu.
I’m not at the office today due to some sort of virulent strain of something coursing through my body. I’m spending my day locked in sweat-laced, fever-dream filled naps, popping awake only to stare at the clock and wait out the hours before I can swill my next dose of cold medicine. Good times.
In one of the intermittent periods of clarity, where my most recent hit of Nyquil is long enough in my system to stop my cough, but still far enough away from the decision making centers of my brain that I’m reasonably coherent, I checked my e-mail. I’ve got a track from the recently released (indie) rock opera, Hard Drugs. There’s a ton of people involved; use the internet to find out who (The Nyquil is starting to hit the verbal bits in my cortex; I don’t have a lot of time to waste on listing the people who made this thing. Presumably you do.) However, given my current flu/cold medicine addled state, I found the title of the record to be oddly appropriate. The song in question, “Bad Ideas” is also particularly poignant, given my current health situation. Do accountants get sick because their clients are? Of course not. Lawyers? Cops? No and no. Teachers do though. The number of microbes coursing through my class, trucked in by my cherubic charges could kill a donkey. “Bad Ideas” indeed. When I go back to work, it will be with a surgical mask and elbow length gloves on. (The hand claps are nice as well.)
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