I'm drunk. And I'll be having orgiastic sex tomorrow.

With a black guy.

A *gay* black guy.

A gay black Catholic clergyman.*

In a wheelchair.

No, that is not what I said.

It's what I wish I'd said, though.

I knew today that I was coming down with a sinus infection. In addition to the swimmy feeling and the pressure over my right cheekbone, I felt unreasonably aggressive and bitchy. (Chorus of my coworkers: "...aaaand this is different how?")

So, after running into something with my car (no injuries, just paint transfer off of the concrete barrier in front of the convenience store) and not feeling any better with Sudafed, I called in sick.

Whereupon the night mangler asked, "Do you mind if I ask what's wrong?"

Yes, I mind.

I mind immensely.

Not only am I doing you a favor by not double-dosing at least two patients tomorrow or coughing my crap onto their lumbar drains, I'm being nice enough to call you in time for you to find a sub.

And it's none of your business why I'm calling in. Okay? I could have a cold, or a stomach bug, or just be horribly hung-over; it's enough that I'm calling to say "I'm feeling peaked".

Perhaps you should ask the two other nurses who worked sick last week why they *didn't* call in. Those of us who worked with them for three days are feeling decidedly puny.

Unless I have smallpox, or bloody sputum, or avian flu, my reasons for calling in are my own business.

But I got her.

Instead of simply saying "I have a sinus infection; sorry" I described the multi-colored snot that my sinuses are producing, the pain, the lollygagging feeling, and the diarrhea.

Sweet dreams, night mangler.

*Or clergy-woman. Whatever works for you.