F is For Vitamin
I would be lying to you if I told you that I was well. The truth is that I am not. In fact, I’m very sick. The doctors aren’t too sure what’s wrong either. One of the things I hate to do is tell people I’m sick. Reasons for this include:
- Some people think I’m faking it to get out of work. This is untrue.
- Some people think I’m perpetually sick. You would be too, if you and had irregular diet patterns with a hedonistic lifestyle caused by the coolness of living alone.
- Some people are just jealous that others get time off to recuperate whilst they soldier on with their petty insignificant careers.
When I’m sick, I usually just stay at home and try to sleep it off. If anybody calls to ask, I’d pretend that I’m leave or something like that with a similar effect. The dreariness of going through the motions to explain that I was sick, and at home and what I was going through becomes such a friggin bore especially if all you want to do is rest.
Strangely, I’m one of those people who do not dwell on the past, live in the present and worry incessantly about the future. In my latest stroke of madness, the awful reality of my mortality gripped me by the balls and sent cold beads of sweat down my back, forcing me to call my insurance agent and increase my coverage just in case shit happens.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go slay the Z monster.
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