Today is a sick day. I'm home. Well, at this moment, I'm at the coffee shop. The brand new coffee shop that opened a mere block, not even, from my front door. I can see my building from where I'm sitting, it's that close. Too bad the coffee is for crap. The owners are nice and friendly, though, and persist in giving me free slices of very thin, dry cake, so I will come back.
I have not much to say since I've spent the entire day, until now, on the sofa watching tv via the internet and part of an old movie on dvd. I also ate, drank tea and IM'd, briefly, with Pele. Owen sent me an email saying he hoped I was feeling better (yesterday I told him I was getting sick). I responded that I wasn't better and that I was staying home. Haven't heard from him since.
Maybe I can complain about Owen? He is not perfect in every way. He did not volunteer to rush over and hold my hand and make me feel better. Isn't he supposed to know that's what I want? What kind of boyfriend doesn't know that? Eh, truth is, I'm not very sick. I'm tired and worn out, but not sniffling, sneezing or coughing. I don't even have a fever. However, boyfriend does not know that! I could be dying over here...at the coffee shop...with my dry cake and cocoa.
Oh, sigh. I'm giving myself the rest of the day for my pity-party and it's back to "work" tomorrow.
And I did get the work done yesterday what I needed to get done. I even brought work home, which I did not do. There is a limit, after all.
Grateful for: a break.
Drop me a line.