"Working From Home"

10AM on a Monday morning: I lay on the couch sneezing uncontrollably, wearing my Norwegian sweater and ski socks for warmth, sniveling like a pathetic little ball of germs. I can’t cough without imagining the Mucinex family being dislodged from my lungs in a hurricane-like blast. How did I get here? Wasn’t I healthy as a horse just a few days ago? Let us revisit my journey down the head cold highway.

It started as an innocent little tickle in the back of my throat, which I attributed to the dry Colorado air and the second-hand smoke courtesy of the hipsters outside of Red Square. I dismissed the scratchy throat as just that, and went about living my life. Let the records show that I RARELY fall ill. In fact, I am somewhat judgmental of people that are constantly sniffling; their parents obviously protected them from germs with OCD vigor when they were children, ironically gifting them with the immune system of a premature panda cub. Do parents not realize that exposure to germs eventually renders children immune to disease? When I have babies, I am going to let them roll around on the floor and encourage them to eat fistfuls of dirt. Alas, I digress.

The tickle in my throat quickly escalated into a full-fledged, diabolical head cold. Coughing, sneezing… the works. For someone that rarely falls ill, the first day or two of a sickness are somewhat of a novelty: Drinking tea, lounging around watching movies, eating chicken noodle soup and milk shakes with a great deal of self-indulgence. Poor me, poor me, so sick. Ideally, you have a miraculous recovery after two days of milkshake binging and that's the extent of it. This time around, I was not so lucky. This is DAY FOUR of couch lounging. I am tired of soup. I am sick of watching TV. If I see one more Proactiv commercial, I might roll off the couch onto a bed of used Kleenex and adult sob. I was actually excited to go to work this morning – I awoke from a Nyquil-fueled slumber and convinced myself I felt sooo much better. I was at work for less than an hour when I sneezed directly on a co-worker while making coffee in the communal kitchen, prompting a look of true disdain. Everyone agreed that I should go home and “take it easy” (code for “get the F out of here before you get us sick, you selfish, sniveling brat"). I agreed, promising that I would be working from home, and just like that I was banished back to the couch. Blah.

Let me just say that the idea of “working from home” is preposterous. Let’s call a spade a spade: Working from home is sending one e-mail per hour while eating Bagel Bites and sinking into a Food Network trance. It’s always funny to hear people justify the concept. “I have a fully-functional office at home. You won’t even know I’m working remotely!” Yea right, and Kim Kardashian really got that ass wearing Shape-Ups. You might as well just say, "I've decided I'm done working for the day. I think I'll go home and blatantly disregard my professional obligations until tomorrow." At least that would be honest.

I know what you’re thinking: I’m over exerting myself with all of this profound, meaningful writing. If I stand a chance of getting off this god-forsaken couch anytime soon, I’d better heed my coworkers’ advice and take it easy. I think I’ll take a nap and then do some work. Cough cough.