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eighteen eleven twelve
home sick mortal no return
I am home today. I'm sick. I have all the body aches and headaches and sore eyes of a bad case of flu. It hurts to move. The disturbing part is that my sinuses and nose aren't bothering me at all. I find this worrisome. I would much rather have flu than mononucleosis, for one thing.
It's been building up for several days, days in which I was just unusually tired. Now it is definitely tangible.
This business of being sick is going to make me look bad, because we are having a memorial service at work today for a co-worker who died unexpectedly, and now a few people are going to suspect me of being sick in order to avoid going to it.
I admit they have justification. I still don't understand funerals. This is worse than going to something out of a sense of obligation - here is a funeral I'd be going to out of a sense of politics - because of what other people in the office might say if I wasn't there. That's a lousy reason to show up.
I didn't know the man! He worked only a few doors down from me but I didn't know him. We exchanged maybe five words. I don't know most of the people here. I hardly talk to them. There is exactly one person in my department whom I can comfortably have a long conversation with.
When I die I'm going to do like Janis Joplin did and leave money so all my friends can have a wild all-night party instead. I want you to get drunk when I die and have wild sex and tell jokes. I want you to laugh when I die. I don't want you standing around in a room pulling long faces. Don't waste your time. Because when I cross over to hell or beyond, I am not looking back.
Sorry.
As I say, I'm not feeling well today.
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© columbine
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