Well it worked. We all went in this week to get our flu shots, and lo and behold I do believe I have the flu.
I’m not sure that was the goal, however.
We all went together, all four of us, and they offered us a choice – we could get an actual shot, or we could get the new mist that they spritz up your nose. For me this was an easy choice.
I hate needles. Hate them with a passion that defies logic and common sense. I have had dental work done without anesthesia in order to avoid the shots, a practice which I do not recommend and which I have since abandoned as not worth the aggravation. I’ve learned to accept shots, but I still hate them.
So when other options are available, I definitely take them.
It’s a drag being sick, even the little touch of blah that has settled upon me this week – not enough to keep me from doing anything I have to do, just enough to make it more of a chore than it needs to be. The whole notion of being sick loses its charm sometime in grade school, and by the time you’re an adult you realize that there is nobody to take care of you and feed you chicken soup except you. And if you miss work it will still be there, only doubled since there is new work now too.
This growing up thing? It’s got some shortcomings.
It’s been quite a week or two here, and I have not had much time to pay attention to blogging. But, as Granny Weatherwax always said, “I aten’t dead.” Just busy.
And now, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, sick.