One Sick Monkey

There’s a possibility that I am sick.

I never get sick.  It’s really rare, I’m pretty lucky that way.  It’s so rare that I think I miss the warning signs that other people might readily see as pending sickness.  If I saw them, I might take steps to avoid sickness, but instead I blunder headlong into sick like Lloyd on wet tile.  If only I had just slept a bit longer I might have avoided the whole thing.  Dang.

Anyway, I now will leave work during the middle of the day (gasp!) and sleep the sleep of the billing guilt (shock!).  That’s what you do when you don’t get paid sick days, every second of convalescence is spent measuring whether or not you are in fact well enough to get back to work and continue billing.  It doesn’t bother me that much, but mostly because I am never sick (remember?).  If this is a problem for you, I strongly advise against contracting as a form of employment.  The billing monkey never leaves, always watching, always screeching at you from the corner if you aren’t billing on a weekday.  Damn monkey.  He’s making me reconsider going home to sleep right now.  “If you can write that blog post, how sick can you really be?  You are able to just sit there and be sick and still bill, it’s not like you are a trapeze artist for Pete’s sake. Just tough it out for a few more hours to fill up your day and then go home and I will let you sleep in peace, really I will.”; quoth the monkey.  When monkeys speak, always use “quoth”.

Still trying to decide if the blasted monkey is right.  Maybe I should fling some poo at him sometime, instead of the other way around.  See how he likes it.

You guys can see the monkey, right?  Over there in the corner?  The one gibbering?  No, not that one, the other one.

Ah.

Right then, going home to sleep!

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