Jen and Max made it to Tucson safely. Max was an angel and slept for two hours on the plane and then played quietly the rest of the time. I was prepared for horror stories of inflight diaper disasters, grumpiness and general pandemonium. Max gets a pony when he gets back, I think.
I slept through church on Sunday. I slept for 14 hours straight, and was still tired when I finally dragged my butt out of bed, downstairs to the couch where I had a cold bachelor pizza lunch and wondered why the olympics didn’t start until 7.
It’s no fun being sick unless I have someone to feel sorry for me, so here I am at work where I’ll do the “I’m sick, but aren’t you impressed that I’m here anyway” and try to avoid as much actual work as I can. The problem is three projects are at their apex of pain right now and that means I get to do eight things at once, answer thirty IMs at once and juggle ostrich eggs all at the same time. That’s pretty tough when I’m well, much less when I’m swimming in a facefull of bloody snot.