I'm still at home with my cold. I don't think I would have been quite such a sissy and stayed home again, although I do feel bad, but the clipboard people have been there so long and they have made it seem that slavish devotion to the M-41 Handbook (the carrier's bible, except it was not handed down at Mt. Sinai) is more important than efficiency, or even actually delivering mail that my residual (small inside carrier's joke) sense of obligation to the Postal Service has been quite reduced. If they call sorting mail in the afternoon "shooting the station in the foot," then staying home all day doesn't seem as big a deal as it used to. I'm sick, I've accrued almost a year of sick leave, so I'm almost convinced that I shouldn't feel sleazy as well as feverish.
So, I'm still at home. I've read one book, and started another. I've also watched a lot of TV. This morning I watched the Game Show Network for a couple of hours, which included a couple episodes of the Match Game from the 60's or 70's. Watching them smirk as they made their double entendres seemed so quaintly old fashioned. Now, even children on TV say things that would make Gene Rayburn blush.
By the way, I have actual medical proof that my normal temperature is 97.3. It's in my chart at my doctor's office. Also, it turns out that if I don't waste eight or nine hours at work, I've got a lot more time to include pointless links.