Flu shot

Last weekend, we got our flu shots. It's only the second time I've ever had one - prior to 2020, this needle-phobic writer had avoided all encounters with medical pointy objects since childhood. Then Covid happened, and boosters, and I sucked it up and held out my arm because a little imagined pain is nothing compared to the alternative. 

And I'd rather not get the flu, either, but it's not as big a worry. When I went to the pharmacy for my booster, they didn't have any Pfizer shots left and as I'd had a pretty severe reaction to the Moderna booster, I decided to wait. But as we were already there and had psyched myself up, I figured what the hell, I'd get the flu shot instead. 

We're both sick. Miserably so. And what's worst is that because of Covid and that long period of masking, we're out of practice at the perfectly normal activity of being sick.

My head hurts, my throat hurts. I have a cough that sounds like a German shepherd. All perfectly standard cold symptoms for me, but the last time I was really sick was Christmas 2019. 

I called out of work Monday and Tuesday. Not much good at answering phones if I can't talk. And I have a double header craft show this Friday-Saturday, plus a shift at the pop-up on Sunday. Because of course I do.

Right now if you asked me what I'm thankful for, I would say I'm thankful that we're not doing anything for Thanksgiving. Because I'm going to sleep through it.