Confessions of a (sick) workaholic

So I’m sitting on my bed, well, it’s more like reclining on my bed, feeling guilty for not being at work.  Why?  because I’m “sick.”   Not “sick” I just didn’t want to go in today, but rather “sick” slowly recoverying from perhaps one of the worst 72 hrs I can remember (my roommate is astonished I actually remember those 72 hours…I do…all 15 I was awake for.)  It’s the “sick” that when I wake up in the morning, the sun is shining and finally, finally I feel normal.  Well, at least almost normal.  But as I go through my mornig routine, almost turns to kinda turns to not really.  In the space fo 3 hours that feeling of “I’m back!” turns to “ug”–no engery left even for the slient h.  And thus I retreat, defeated, exhausted, back to bed.  And down for a nap I go.  But I’m not a nap taker and I’ve done nothing BUT sleep (or lie in a semi comatose state) for the past 3 days…So of course I don’t sleep.  Which brings me here.  I’m sitting (kinda) on this bed of mine, attempting make use of this time by catching up on the school work I had planned to do over the weekend, feeling guilty that I’m not at work.  I mean, I’m doing the same thing here that I would be there: sitting (kinda) in front of a computer.  My job’s not terribly strenious…of course…it does involve that whole people interaction bit.  Which tends to come back after the capacity to sit up straight.  And since I haven’t quite mastered that whole sitting up bit, I guess I’m stuck here…in bed…feeling guilty ’cause I feel fine (kinda).