I'm writing this in a state of recovery.
Yesterday, without warning and in throws of DIY triumph, I fell horrendously ill. It didn't take very long; only a space of about 15 minutes from gazing proudly on the desk that I'd just created from scratch (well, a carefully prefabricated selection of parts) to desperately trying to keep my gorge from rising while sitting on the toilet. None of my usual remedies worked. Water, rest, cursing my place in the universe. Slightly feverish and lying in bed ready to leap to the bathroom at the meer hint of a twitch in my guts it occurred to me that it was my day off.
Today, I am working an evening shift. 2-10. It will probably be busy with customers I would rather not serve. And I feel fine. My boss just called, saying that if I needed some more recovery time that was cool. And I don't. One spectacular chunder before bed last night and I feel totally human again.
What's up with that?
Why did it have to be on my day off? Why did the vast chunk of my 24 hours of freedom get flushed down the toilet? Is it Karma? Was I some sort of horrendous maniac in a former life? Is it vengeance for everytime I've checked my personal email at work? Is this some sort sarcastic HR deity, a la Catbert, that notes any time wasted at the workplace, tallies it and inflicts debilitation digestive disorders on days off to right the balance?
If so, I think it's time for self employment. Or retirement.