Sick again, truly sick now. I’m going for blood work to rule out some stuff, because apparently it’s not normal to be sick this many times a year. I could have told them that a few months back, but you know doctors. They have to come up with these things on their own or they feel like capital L losers.

The sad thing about being sick is that you always feel guilty for taking time off work – even guiltier than you would taking time off for no reason on the false premise that you’re sick. I guess because in the second instance, you’ve already made the decision to not go in whereas in the first, you’re taken aback by the inability to get out of bed even though you’d set your alarm and had your outfit all picked out for the next day (I do this sometimes, when my wardrobe begins to feel scant).

Then when you ring up and tell them you’re not coming in, you suddenly feel a whole lot better. There’s a weight lifted in knowing you won’t be forced to pretend that you’re okay for eight hours whilst sitting straight up in a chair and even to perform as though you're okay, which makes sitting in that chair even more hellish.

And that wee little bit of wiggle room on the feeling better front is what will really push you over the edge of reason and into the bottomless canyon of guilt. It’s so silly, because by now they’ve already forgotten why you’re not there and are getting on with things while you continue to justify to the deaf air why you’re in bed and not at your post, where you should be.

Yesterday on the bus, I saw a man get on with his dog. The man was short, pig-eyed and pissed as a fart (as they say here). When the bus started up, he stumbled and tromped on the dog’s leash, choking it. By the time he’d sat down, I was sure he didn’t really like his dog, because he pulled it off its feet by its leash to encourage it to sit down, and when that didn’t work, he shouted SIT DOWN in a voice so full of hate that my eyes welled up for the dog.

Then he got up to wobble unsteadily in the aisle because he wanted to make a call on his mobile. The dog was underfoot again, looking confused and dirty and unhappy. Two children got on, and one of them stepped on the dog’s foot. The dog yelped and the child started laughing wildly, looking around at our faces to determine how funny it was, what just happened there. When he got to my face, he stopped laughing. I looked down at the dog, which was already over it. I imagine it has to get over things pretty quickly, or you’d just want to kill yourself, wouldn’t you?

Then two unkempt women stuffed inside track suits got on the bus and stared down at the dog in a leering way. One of the women was pregnant with someone I can tell you now might as well never be born for all the joy it will likely experience. You want to say this, but the whole point is that a baby doesn’t know any better and never will. None of us do, we just continue to live, for better or worse.

Anyway, I was already quite sick at this point so I had a brief cry about it once I got home. At least a baby can grow up and run away if it wants to. But today things are looking more positive, as things do after sleep. I’m sure the dog is in its garden now, smelling the breeze and chewing grass and staying out of that man’s way. And the man is probably inside on his couch, picking his nose in his sleep.