I ventured to the lobby to pick up my 8 packages of books (yeah, I know...this is pretty much the last of them, and most were just individual books that I'd traded for) and the concierge asked if I had fallen down or something. Uh, no, it's something like chickenpox, I explained, wondering if I should get one of those Arab veils that covers the entire head.
Most of the time I just want to lie down with a cold washcloth over my face. Not fun, not at all.
I'm still reluctant to take painkillers since that'll zonk me out and I'm scared I'll get dependent. So far, it's more annoying than painful but we'll see. I have them, and my doctor said he'd prescribe Tylenol with codeine if necessary. I'm taking antivirals every 8 hours for a week, with no obvious results yet.
I managed to delegate my workload easily. Will J. did the NYT puzzles on virtually no notice, and already had them done by last night. This guy needs to be nominated for sainthood. I turned down a job for Random House (and Noam happened to be on IM at that moment, so he will probably take it), and asked if someone else could do Uptown puzzles this month. Also asked if LA Times can wait a week or two, or if he'd like to get a substitute for the next 6. I do have some at-homes to send out, but that's manageable. My schedule is clear to simply get better.
I'm also glad I'm not at the ex-job. I don't think I would have been expected to work, since I'm contagious to people who have not had chickenpox, besides feeling uncomfortable and unsightly. In any case, it doesn't matter!
My mother asked if I wanted to come stay in Florida. No way! Taking a plane ride and not being among my familiar surroundings would not have been desirable. Maybe if I had something like a broken leg and needed a lot of care. Even then, I prefer being home on my own turf if possible.