"Where is Katie?" a new collaborator asked quietly after everyone in England (well, not everyone - the people I was meant to speak with) introduced themselves.
"I'm in my basement," I offered and waited for them to laugh (God bless the British). "I'm based at headquarters," I offered, "but I'm getting over the flu. So I'm home today." And I contributed and listened and made a somewhat decent impression.
"No!" I cried and then coughed, getting increasingly angry when it made my muscles cramp in protest. "They are a vendor," I argued. "They can either vend or get the hell out of my way."
"I thought you were supportive," a colleague said carefully.
"When I thought they would do what I said, I was. I have now turned on them." I explained snippily. "I'm sick - I'm hanging up now. You tell them I said no."
"Whores," I muttered after I hung up and patted Chienne reassuringly before curling into my covers and pillows and trying to rest.
"Thank you," I offered to the fourth person who offered to bring me things today. "I don't really want food. I have been alternating Tylenol and Advil and have have enough left. And, yes - I promise I'm getting enough fluids."
Now I'm more bored than anything - finding it hard to focus but less painful to breathe. It may be time to go back to the office tomorrow.