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JimRichter

Notes from the Under-Weathered

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I am sick. A sickness that lingers to the point of insanity. A sickness so insipid yet tolerable, even workable. Not so debilitating that you miss work or important social obligations. No. You subjugate yourself to those responsibilities, while concurrently screaming inside "Let Me Sleep!"

I have been sick exactly one week this morning. In celebration of this anniversary, this intolerable illness has decided to inflict a sizable headache upon my person, as well as continue dumping the ton of sludge in my noggin that is ever-present yet impossible to extricate.

Yes, I have and will continue to fulfill those duties pressed upon me. I went to work; I went to my family's Thanksgiving; I went to my gig last night; I am on-call for work and will go to work tomorrow. Yet, I am sick. Undeniably sick. Unfortunately it is a gradation of sick so pale to the mild observer that I might as well not be sick. But I tell you quite honestly, I am sick!

So, here I am--lurking in my under-the-weather lair. Choosing to convalesce when allowed and jumping to attention when not. Such is my burden; such is my lot. Perhaps I have passed a threshold of rationality, for not even my mandolin soothes me. Alas, I have been forsaken.

I am sick.

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