EY's Rants and Raves

That's "ill", not the roman numeral for 3. I'm not good when I'm ill. No one, I suppose is. But I'm definitely not a woman who can gracefully swoon or look languid when ill or derive much sympathy from my illness. Nope, if I'm ill, I'm cranky, leave me alone, hurry up with that stuff I asked for 30 seconds ago. Such is my lot today.
Being sick brings out a weird optimism in me that is born squarely in denial. On my 3rd trip to the bathroom since 1 am, somewhere around 3, I thought "this has to stop soon....I have meetings tomorrow in another town, things to do, dinner with friends and if I can't get much sleep, I won't make it through the day." Nevermind that trip #2 resulted in me having to take a shower to clean up. Nevermind that it's impolite to projectile hurl during a presentation and I hadn't been able to control that well so far. Nope, I was going to work. Until about 6am when the alarm went off and the thought of moving under my own power seemed impossible.

It's 7 hours and 2 Sprites later and it still doesn't seem like an easy task.