My virus continues.
I've spent most of my time delicately draped accross on one of the sofas like the sickly heroine of one of the more bathetic Victorian novels.
I felt decidedly better on Monday morning so it was off to work I went with, if not with a "HiHo" and a merry tune on my lips, but feeling ready for another day at work.
I walked from the car park into the office with a colleague - in that distance my voice started to sound like a teenage boy's just before it start to break and I began to feel my chest tightening up. By the time I got into the office I was beginning to squeak like a bat whisperer.
So they sent me home.
Tuesday - off work
Wednesday - off work
Thursday - off work - began to feel better
Friday - today I wake up feeling that if I don't talk too much I'll be fine. I get into work, feel awful, squeak like a bat to my boss, promptly burst into tears for no better reason than I don't feel well, get sent home again.
I seem to be ok if I do diddly squat, if I do anything for too long - talking, driving to work (remember it's an hour drive for me), trying to concentrate - it takes it out of me.