Of course I don't stick my fingers down my throat. It's not that I make myself sick, even. It's just that I don't do what I should to make myself better. Today I could have, possibly should have, stayed in bed. But I didn't. The lure of the Queensland community theatre premiere of Wicked was too great this afternoon. And tonight my son was performing in a one-off Fame drama recital. I have not missed one of his shows to this point and I'm not about to start now. Both were thoroughly enjoyable and it didn't kill me so I guess that means it will make me stronger. Earlier this week a work colleague and I sniffled, snorted and whinged our way through a working lunch. I threw in coughing up a lung occasionally for good measure. We are both meant to be on duty at QUT Open Day tomorrow. He has a sickness certificate and won't be there. I will turn up as long as there is any air left in my lungs. Do I think he's a slacker? No. I sent him an email saying he needed to look after himself first and foremost. And I meant it. It's do as I say, not as I do. He's doing what his doctor ordered. He's listening to his body. I am hearing the signs and going "la, la, la. I can't hear you". Of course I can't hear. My ears are blocked and the coughing drowns out any other communication. Seriously, some people make me sick ... And by some people I mean me.
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