Dead man working

In the beginning, it starts with a case of sniffle that quickly turns into PND (post-nasal drip). It’s slightly annoying, because I’m always acting like a Hoover, inhaling as deeply as I can to avoid any drops falling on the reports. If I don’t do that, I tilt my head back, resulting in me looking like a human Pez dispenser.

As the day drags on at a snail’s pace, my head begins to thump, like a gentle baseline with no rhythm. The sinuses are draining and filling at the same time. It’s painful. No amount of Tylenol Extra Strength can numb the sensation.

The voice that I once thought was irritating, is now Kathleen Turner-esque. It’s throatier, coarser, rougher. Coughing makes my insides burn; not only my chest, but stomach and heart. Whenever I expunge air, it feels like part of my lung will escape. I guess that’s why you put your hand in front of your mouth just in case anything falls out.

The joints in my body creak and my muscles are stiff (in the bad way). Moving is difficult. Writing e-mails to your friends becomes a chore since your fingers crack with every click on the keyboard.

My eyes burn and are watery. I can’t stop crying, except when I need to have them moisturized, then they’re dry. My lips are puffy and expand to twice their size, cracking and bleeding to the point where I don’t need lipstick for any colour.

So, why am I complaining? It’s because I’m working and pretending (not very convincingly) I’m fine when everyone knows I shouldn’t be here, potentially infecting the other employees. But, they’re paying me to work, not cough, sneeze, wheeze and whine for eight hours.

Ugh. It’s days like these when I wish I was dead. Kill me. Kill me, now.