I woke up last Monday with a bad fever and the pressure of a gorilla sitting on my head. After laying in bed and sweating for 2 days, I crawled into work on Wednesday, only to head back home that afternoon. I was trying to get moving because I was flying out to San Francisco on Thursday morning. The plane's descent was particularly rough on my headache, but something turned around mid-afternoon.

Whether it was penicillin, the sight of green grass and trees, or just time, I started to feel better and really looked forward to seeing Stacy and the kids I'd been quarantined from all week. Snow hit Chicago Friday morning, and a 3 hour delay plus a refuel in Rockford for all the circling we were doing meant I didn't get home until 7 that night.

Normally, I'd be annoyed about the delay and sitting on the tarmac all that time, but I felt good for once. I had energy. I think I was the happiest person on the plane.