...and only get one answer.
On another note, I didn’t go to work yesterday. I woke up, slid out of bed and onto the floor. I sat there for a while, shivering. I pulled myself up and wobbled around the room and into the bathroom. My face was whiter than usual and drawn. I decided to take my temperature. I grabbed my thermometer, wobbled my way back to my bed, lay down, and popped the thermometer under my tongue. A few minutes later, I pulled it out and looked. 100.2. I knew then that I wasn’t going to work. I put the thermometer near my alarm which I reset and promptly fell asleep.
An hour later, I slid out of bed and wobbled my way to the phone. I called work and said I wouldn’t be coming in. My boss asked my why and I said because my temperature was over a hundred. She said okay.
I wobbled back to bed and didn’t sleep. My whole body ached. My skin was in that horrible hyper sensitive state.
Eventually, I stumbled out to the living room coated myself in all my blankets and turned on the TV. I don’t remember what was on, though.
After noon, I decided to take my temperature again. This time it was 102.3. Not good. I started to get scared. If I kept getting worse, how could I get to the hospital? This is the first time I’ve ever lived on my own. At any other point in my life if I got really sick I had a parent or a roommate who would have driven me, but not now. Now I’d either have to risk driving myself, which I knew was stupid, or call a taxi.
I was just panicking, of course. By seven o’clock, my temperature was down to 99.8 and I knew I’d be going to work the next day, which I did with my body still aching and my skin still being sensitive and a normal temperature.
One good thing came from all of this, though: I didn’t toss my cookies.
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