Isaac had a short-lived stomach bug yesterday. If he had to be sick during Spring Break, he picked the best day -- it rained, sleeted and snowed. He spent most of the day sleeping, then woke up this morning his usual quirky self.
Here's a sick day poem for you, even though the sickness has passed.
I’m feeling sick and getting worse. I think I’d better see the nurse. I’m sure I should go home today. It could be fatal if I stay. I’m nauseated, nearly ill. I have a fever and a chill. I have a cold. I have the flu. I’m turning green and pink and blue. I have the sweats. I have the shakes, a stuffy nose, and bellyaches. My knees are weak. My vision’s blurred. My throat is sore. My voice is slurred. I’m strewn with head lice, ticks, and mites. I’m covered in mosquito bites. I have a cough, a creak, a croak, a reddish rash from poison oak, a feeble head, a weakened heart. I may just faint or fall apart. I sprained my ankle, stubbed my toes, and soon I’ll start to decompose. And one more thing I have today that makes me have to go away. It’s just as bad as all the rest: I also have a science test
by Ken Nesbitt, from When the Teacher Isn't Looking