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Leprechauns are assholes.

So I woke up a few days ago with a sharp pain in the back of my throat. You know the kind I mean–the ones that hurt when you swallow and portend imminent illness. Hoping to head the virus off at the pass, I stocked up on OJ and meds and have spent the last couple days drowning myself in Vitamin C. Alas, I could not kill the beast. Yesterday, the monster spread to the rest of my noggin, as I spent the day coughing all over my poor co-workers. (Sorry about that, Cara and The Other Dan.)

Ever the gentleman, The Other Dan suggested I spend a quiet evening at the movies and take Thursday off to hasten my recovery. As I proceeded to cough up a lung, I laughed him off, saying it was unlikely I would need to miss any work. I went to the movie, grabbed a bite to eat with Raj and his lovely wife Tora, and headed home to bed.

Then I woke up this morning. I’m not exactly sure what it feels like to get blindsided by a semi, but I’ll bet this is pretty close. Swallowing my pride, I called The Other Dan to inform him I would indeed be taking my 2nd sick day in about 5 years. (The salmonella doesn’t count. That was a straight up fight for survival.)

Damn it. While I had planned on possibly spending tonight on my back, I assumed it would have been the result of one too many pints of Guinness, not Dayquil. On the bright side, I won’t need to down a gallon of alcohol to see green all day. I guess I’ll just lay around and watch UWM kick Alabama’s ass.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day everybody. Be safe.