I got sent home last night. I wasn't in trouble, although I was crying about it. I was sick. Not like the Night of Ten Tuacas. Honest-to-goodness under the weather. I looked grey. I was mad about being sent home. I have never been sent home. I have worked with migraines. I have worked with laryngitis. I have worked drunk (not my finest shift, but I worked it goddammit!). It's what I do: I work.
I cried. First in the office, as I pleaded to not be sent home. Then in my car, over being unable to work. Stephie was the opener yesterday. She got screwed over. Another reason I didn't want to leave. I would have been mad as hell if I were the opener and the mid got to leave before I did.
I came home, and lay down on the couch, and tried not to throw up. I watched a whole bunch of Arrested Development. And then I went to bed at like, 11:00pm. I still feel like crap.
I wish I could stay in bed. Well, at least on the couch, so I could watch teebee and feel sorry for myself.