Flu. Aftermath and Apologies
I’ve recently just gotten around to pulling up from a very bad case of flu that hit me before the weekend. I’m not totally well yet and, in fact, my head feels like a Fairview billiard hall on happy hour: ten 9-ball matches being played by obstreperous construction workers replete with the drunken merriment that is afforded by a 170 Peso per bucket beers and forty Pesos per game tables.
The excessive cigarette-smoking I engaged in throughout the duration of my sickness didn’t help either. Now, I have a bad cough which, every time I try to clear my throat, feels like somebody’s clawing the insides of my throat with a rusty coat hanger.
To give you an idea of how bad it was, the last time I came in for work, which was Friday last week, I can stand for about five minutes before my knees get wobbly and my head throbs like fuck. (After reading an email from one of my direct reports, I abruptly stood up from my chair to talk talk to her. Bad idea. Next thing I knew, I was bracing myself on my chair’s armrest and was slowly helping myself to sit down again letting out a muted groan). I did manage to get home with a full-blown fever which made it virtually possible to cook rice on my forehead.
On Saturday, I tried to force myself to go to work–since really, I’ve always prided myself with my strong work ethic*, and I’ve always seen myself as the corporate Michael Jordan: someone who steps up during crunch time and performs best under situations of extreme duress. I mean, did you hear about that fiasco I was in during last year’s SEMCON? I flu-gamed and held down the shit out of that.
(*Especially when I know that my bosses are and clients read my blog)
Besides, I didn’t want to stay at home swimming in dirty, semen-stained sheets trying, to no avail, to get off stroking my bird to Street Fighter IV videos on YouTube.
However, on Saturday, my flu has gotten so bad to the point that I couldn’t even get out of bed. And my dreams of pulling off a Flu Game was realized through me emailing my team members every 15 minutes with messages which, invariably had subject lines “Please do this ASAP”, “Please do this report and submit this to me EOD…” and “Please don’t tell [Boss's name] that I’m harassing you to do this report…”
So yeah, despite the flu, everything was great and taken care of. Sure, I was sick, but thanks to my brilliant management skills (through begging and coercing my co-workers) my department’s operations went on unhindered.
Also, I have my mom to nurse me back to full health in no time. Or so I thought.
This was when shit hit the fan: Apparently, my mom was also down with a flu. A flu that was worse than mine. This totally threw me off guard. I mean, if I’m sick and she’s sick, who’s supposed to give me a sponge bath? Who’s supposed to prepare my meals? And, most importantly? Who’s supposed to get me into my onesies and read me Hansel and Gretel before I sleep?
Yes, if you must ask, whenever I get sick, no matter how non-deadly it is, I act as though if I’m dying and pretty much turn into an infant.
Now, with my mom out, I had to rely on my dad to nurse me back to health and bear the burden of seeing my tiny bird when he helps me change into my pajamas at night.
Now that I’m considerably better than I was over the weekend, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to my dad for being such a pussy.
My dad is a man who didn’t ask for much. I didn’t have to make the high school basketball team nor did I have to learn how to count to 100, let alone, get exemplary grades in school. All the man wanted was a son who can take care of himself and stand up to a stupid flu and maybe a son who can have intercourse with a woman without taking two hours to get an erection.
So, I’m sorry dad. I’m sorry for not being that man. I’m sorry everyone.
Now, I’m going out and smoke like 5 cigarettes before I go to sleep.
