Routines, the elusive beasts I’ve been chasing for years and only now, am beginning to understand the true power of.
January was the first time in a long time that I was sick sick. Like take-off-work, hole-up-in-the-corner, eat-only-soup kind of sick — which should come as no surprise since almost everyone I know has been hit by sort bug or another since the new year began.
If a friend were to come up to me and say they were feeling ill and considering taking a sick day, I would nearly insist that they did.
“That’s what they’re there for!”
“Your health is a priority above your work ALWAYS!”
“No one wants you to bring your sickness into the office, so go home and take care of yourself!”
I’d say these off without even thinking, believing in them wholeheartedly because, well, they’re true. But despite knowing there is nothing more off-putting than someone showing up to work visibly ill and on the brink of contaminating the entire office, on a Tuesday night in January I found myself Googling at 3am, “how sick should you be to take a sick day?”