December 23, 2002–January 3, 2003 — Acute tonsillitis

I left for home on December 23 with another ear infection and too little sleep. The last six weeks have provided a lifetime’s worth of five-hour bus rides to Ottawa accompanied by infected eardrums and exhaustion.

After I arrived in Ottawa, my health worsened. I wasn’t sleeping, and my throat was bright red. My uvula was covered in dark red spots. I just wanted to sleep.

Even while sick, Christmas at home was nice in the way that it always is: waking up to stockings, presents wrapped in dozens of layers of wrapping paper and in boxes that get progressively smaller, and pictures with the dog struggling to get away and never quite looking at the camera. I was only at home for three days, and I was sick for all of them. The days went very quickly; I wish I could have left Toronto earlier and spent more time at home.

We went to Peterborough on December 26 for Christmas dinner with our extended family. I spent most of my time in Peterborough unconscious in the basement, until we left for Toronto at around 7:00 pm. I was relieved to be home and convinced that being in my own bed again would cure all my problems. When it didn’t, I put my new health card to use, asking my dad to drive me to a walk-in clinic. I was diagnosed with strep throat and prescribed penicillin.

Strep throat or not, I was scheduled to work that afternoon. I desperately wanted to stay home, lying in bed, waiting for the pain to stop and for sleep to come. I was drinking about a litre of water every hour. But I had to go to work unless I was willing to lose two days of pay because of store policy regarding statutory holidays.

(When retail employers are nice enough to offer statutory holiday pay to part-time employees, they do so on the condition that the employee not miss his or her last scheduled shift before or first scheduled shift after the holiday or holidays in question. Theory being that this will prevent employees from calling in sick, taking a four- or five-day weekend while still getting paid for the holidays in the middle.)

In practice, this policy meant that I had to be at work for three hours on December 27 in order to be paid for December 25 and 26. I had to suffer through 180 minutes in exchange for 17 hours on my paycheque. I dug out my name tag and tried to stay conscious enough on my trip to Etobicoke that I wouldn’t miss my stop.

Not every manager who saw me was thrilled that I was there; some were convinced that I should have stayed home because I was contagious and prone to miscounting money. I wondered if they would have been more selfless than me. Showing an unexpected absence of cynicism, I felt guilty and petty for most of my three hours at work.

My parents called me the next day. My dad told me that he was proud of me for going to work. Not for the money, but because I had “eaten the pain”. This made me smile.

I called in sick on Saturday and Sunday. I was scheduled on Monday, my last shift before New Year’s Day. I still didn’t feel healthy, but I went to work anyway, satisfied that I wasn’t contagious and keen on earning my hours for another statutory holiday.

It is sad that I am willing to suffer for so little money.

I felt a bit better on January 31. I had planned to spend the entire day in bed, but I decided to leave the house to celebrate having slept through the night for the first time in a week. I called Amy, and we went downtown. I had forgotten that it was a special day, that most people would be celebrating that night. I thought about last year and did my best to keep too many awkward memories from surfacing. I vowed to be asleep before midnight.

Amy and I eventually ended up at Jeff and Amy’s house. Wayne, Shona, and Paul dropped by. I left a bit before 11:00 pm, deciding it was very important I not break my promise to myself.

I was in bed by 11:30 pm. If I was still awake at midnight, I didn’t know it. I refused to look at the clock until morning.

My resolution (of sorts) last year was to have a normal relationship with a girl from real life, not the Internet. I managed to do this two or three times, depending on how you do the math and your definition of “real”.

I made a lot of mistakes last year.

This year, my resolution is to give up the Internet. No more online news sites, no more obsessing over other people’s journals. I’ll update my web site and research things as I need to for the projects that I’m working on, but that will be the extent of it.

I woke up on January 1, 2003, and went to buy a newspaper. I am off to a good start, and whether I succeed in keeping it or not, I’m convinced this year’s resolution will be a source of much less regret than last year’s.