As much as it sucks to stay home and wallow on the couch all day or force yourself to occasionally look at the computer and maybe press a few keys when you’re sick, it is way way way way worse to have to drag yourself out of bed, scan your grey visage in the mirror, groan, pour some orange juice down your throat (which cools the fiery depths temporarily), figure out what to wear that isn’t going to make your bones ache (sweats?), and struggle to midtown where your freelance ME gig awaits, and there are irritating Helvetica issues to be resolved.
Why am I sick, cruel world??? Why? (Imagine pounding fists and flailing appendages, except I’m too weak to do more than sit here and type, and maybe twitch my eye a little.)