My First Paid Holiday EVER

. . . and I was sick yesterday. So I did not go anywhere fun. I did not spend any money that I felt I was somehow recouping because I was getting paid not to be at work. (Which actually was still a great feeling. Hooray for getting paid on a day you're not working, and still receiving 80 hours' worth of money for the two-week pay period!) Anyway, you know you really don't feel well when the highlight of your paid holiday is watching Star Wars Episode 3 with your dad. Not that I have anything against my dad, of course. Quite the contrary.

But you know the Dayquil has officially kicked in when you watch Natalie Portman deliver the line, "You're breaking my heart" with her eyebrows all scrunched and a pained look on her face, and you think that the acting in the movie may have actually improved from the time you saw the film when it first came out in theaters (and snickered at the Portman line, much to the chagrin of the Amidala- and Skywalker-shirted people sitting on the row in front of you). I should have known better--and rested--instead of looking at Hayden Christensen and convincing myself that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a look on his face that did not resemble anger. (I don't care what some of the film critics said, taking back their jibes at his performance in Episode 2. Because even on the Dayquil, I still couldn't quite convince myself that he actually looked in love, or happy, or sad, or tortured. Just angry at best, and more or less like wood at worst.)

I am not the only one who spent my paid holiday sick. A couple of my co-workers did as well. Something, it would seem, is going around. But since I have yet to be gifted any sick leave (that doesn't happen until the beginning of March, which actually isn't terribly far away), I would much rather be sick on a paid holiday than on a weekday; after all, weekday sickness would require that I use vacation time in place of sick. And I can't think of anything that, for me, would be a greater tragedy right now. I'm anxiously awaiting actually using my vacation for a vacation. To New York, I'm thinking. But maybe to Chicago for the umpty-billionth time--I think Chicago is habit-forming. For this year, I only get five days. So England is out of the picture, because I need much more than five days for a vacation like that. And, because I am twisted, I don't want to use sick for vacation either. That's just wrong.

Another thing that is also wrong is the pain in my feet. Granted, it's entirely my fault. And granted, today my shoes were cute and in fashion (this happens less than once in a blue moon). But they were heels. And heels are not comfortable, even though these heels did me a courtesy by keeping my too-long pants (why are dress pants tailored longer anyway?) from dragging on the ground. In fact, I am now firmly and unmovingly convinced that whoever first described something as "walking on pins and needles" was, in fact, describing the sensations in a girl's feet when she wears heels.

Thankfully, I am home now. Which means I have exchanged the actually fashionable office attire for my favorite ratty jeans, a hooded sweater, and slippers. Why does no one make office wear that feels this comfy?