This had better be pneumonia...
I tried muscling through it with albuterol and a positive mental attitude on Friday. That didn't go well. I walked to Church this morning. That was fine... up until 30 minutes later when I was quietly gasping for breath while doing nothing more demanding than sitting in the pew. So no, I guess that didn't go well either. I've spent six waking hours today flat on my back.
Counting backwards, I think I've spent at least 100 waking hours laid out flat in the last two weeks. My workaholism is raging at this impotence.
Part of me knows that I need to be forced to take a vacation sometimes. Part of me thinks that this is all psychosomatic, and that if I can just find the right combination of "can-do" and "eff-you" I'll be able to get some work done. That part of me was given a shot at things on Friday, and again this morning. He got the "eff-you" part down pat, but I ended up very "can't-don't" in the process.
So... I'm off to the doctor tomorrow. Let me tell you, if there isn't a solid, measurable, medical reason for me to feel this way I'm going to be seriously pissed off. I don't want to be told that I've developed a psychosis that enforces laziness. I want to be told I can't get any work done because there's a massive colony of intelligent bacteria slum-lording my lungs out to their unevolved brethren.
Real sick is better than fake sick because sane is better than crazy. (Though I've always had to settle for "high-functioning" instead of "sane.")