I am sick.

If phlegm were money I would be Warren Buffet.

In other words, I have a cold. A deep in the chest, weak in the limbs, dizzy in the brain cold.

I took off last weekend, literally spending almost all my waking hours sleeping. I sipped soup, drank gallons of orange juice, sucked on every lozenge and swallowed every pill my saintly wife brought my way.

Still, I am in the grips of the grippe.

Still, I've been too busy to take time off from work.

Not only is my employer impecunious when it comes to sick days, the crush of work does not abate. And work, sick or not, is an animal that marches on and must be fed.

Yesterday, I wrote that sometimes we need the strength and resolve of a marathoner to get through the day. You might not look like a thing of beauty, a gazelle or an antelope, but you must continue to put one foot in front of the other. You must continue to more forward, toward your goal.

And so it goes.

And so we go.

That's work some times.