I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
I had the worst coughing fit on the subway this morning. I felt like an escapee from the TB ward. My head was pounding, my stomach muscles ache from the force of the constant coughing, I feel awful. I came this close to getting off at 125th Street and going home, but I'm desperate for the money so I need to go to work; plus, I hope to see my doctor today, and his office is like 10 blocks from the office, so I figured I might as well make the trip. Assuming I can get in (please, please don't be on vacation), maybe he will tell me to go home. I feel horrible. This isn't supposed to last this long.
Anyway. I saw you shooting dagger-looks at me this morning, silently shouting, "Don't you dare get me sick, pal." I know. I usually do it myself. Especially when I used to sing, I was like, "You inconsiderate shit, don't you know that some people's health is their livelihood? You're sick, stay home and keep your germs to yourself and get better, sheesh, have a little sense of responsibility."
So, I know. I'm sorry. Believe me, I want to be home. There's no place else I'd rather be. If someone walked up to me right now with a briefcase full of cash and a first class plane ticket to Tahiti, I'd say, "Oyyyy, does it have to be today?" So, everyone, just take your echinacea and drink lots of water, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.
UPDATE: Yay! The doctor will see me at 11:30. Huzzah!
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Go home and get in bed. At the most, work a half day. Don't worry about the train thing. . . . there is no doubt special punishment in a later life awaiting those who pass more germs than anyone else in the subway. You need some chicken soup!
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