Wherein I mine my own suffering for content

I woke up on Friday with a low grade headache and the desire to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed until next year, cradled by goose down. It's allergy season and I've felt, all week, like calling my clients to say "I cannot come in as I'm Afflicted with a serious Malady." However, being that it's only allergies, and not something dire enough to drown in black-market narcotics, I've persisted with going to work despite the feeling that my head is barely attached. It's a good thing I can teach while only half consious. I'm a professional, people.

So on this particular morning, I dragged myself into the bathroom to commence my daily ritual of eyebrow and eyelash application. Let's just say the overhead lighting was especially unforgiving as the black shadows underneath my eyes had reached such large proportions, it seemed like my face was disappearing into the sockets. Oh well, I thought as I spackled on the under eye concealer, I'll just distract people today with sparkling jokes and jazz hands! Except my clients are a bit more observant and vocal than most. All morning, I received comments of this ilk:

"You look really awful...did you sleep last night?"
"JESUS!"
"You're so pale...are you sure you should have come in today?"
"You're not going to get ME sick, are you?"

Well then, don't hold back. So sorry I showed up to work looking like an old, medieval hag. Come on and join me over by my cauldron! We'll go bobbing for Christians and heretics and cast spells on people who annoy us!

In the meantime, I'm heading back home towards the tequila and Benadryl. GOD.