Notes from Maggie's Farm (part 4)

My first day at the new job went reasonably well. I say "reasonably" not because anyone did or said anything that gave me pause; in fact, if anything, I provided them plenty of reasons to regret their hiring decision. See, I was sick all weekend, with some pesky combination of cold and flu-like symptoms. Saturday, I was sluggish all day, and on Sunday morning, I almost fainted after about five minutes of throwing a football with my son. After that, I slept on and off all day, then tossed and turned all night.

Believing calling in sick on my first day would be a rather inauspicious start, I dragged my ass out of bed and went to work this morning. I had this delightful combination of intestinal distress and one of those head colds that renders it impossible to hear what anyone says, yet somehow makes your own voice echo and rattle around in your skull. As I walked around the office, meeting my new colleagues, my conversations sounded like Charlie Brown talking to an adult, with the adult voiced by a muted trumpet. "Hi, I'm Louis," I'd say.

"Wah-wah, wah wah-wah waaaahh" they'd respond.

"Thanks, I'm really looking forward to it," I'd reply, except in my head I heard, "THANKS! I'M REALLY! LOOKING FORWARD FORWARD FORWARD! TO IT IT IT IT!"

"Wah-wah, wah wah-wah-wah?"

"Oh, about seven years," I'd reply, taking a wild stab at what they might have asked. This went on ad nauseam -- and I do mean nauseam.

I have some groundbreaking observations from my week off that I want to report -- for instance, can I be the only person who thinks Barbara Walters looks as if she smells of formaldehyde? -- but now, I'm off to bed, hoping for a healthier day tomorrow.