I'm at home sick today.
I stuck it out for two hours at work, but was SO relieved when I could go home. I don't have any more paid sick time this year thanks to my stupid appendix, but there was no way I could be pleasant around children today.
There's something miserable going around and I got it, though I'll spare you the gory details, except to say that I'm usually MUCH less haggard-looking.
I'm self-medicating by drinking lots of hot tea, taking lots of baths as hot as I can stand them, and re-watching the first two seasons of "Six Feet Under".
If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It's a quirky little show about a family who owns a funeral home. Funerals, sex, embalming fluid, family drama, visits from beyond the grave, romance, coffins, it has it all.
When I was in high school I was actually very interested in going into the funeral industry. Through my school counsellor I even arranged to take a tour of one of the local funeral homes. I was fascinated.
But also a little shocked. Not at what you think I might be shocked at perhaps, the actual physical reality of death and handling dead bodies. No, I was shocked at the prices the funeral homes charge. The mark-up is disturbing.
I tell you, if I die, I'd want my family to take the nine thousand dollars they could spend on a coffin for me, and instead take a wild tropical vacation in my honour, toasting me with exotic drinks with little umbrellas in them.
Go ahead, throw my ashes into the wind, just as long as you remember me fondly. :)
So, anyhoooo, I was rather put off by the rather callous financial aspect of the business. Then I went on to read an old death-industry classic, Jessica Mitford's "The American Way of Death" and that really took the shine off me wanting to become a funeral director.
But watching "Six Feet Under" still makes a fine way to spend a recuperative afternoon. :)