Back off. It's not going to happen for us.
Not without Prednisone, anyway.
I keep waking up in cold sweats with anxieties about my jaw falling off and my lab falling apart when I leave in July. Perhaps it's my overzealous ego rearing its ugly head, but I like my teeth and no one can deny that the pace in my lab will slow when I leave. In my defense, my boss is stressed about it, too. Half of my stress comes from wanting to assure him that everything will be fine when I'm worried that it wont.
It's really not so terrific to dread going in to work each morning because your guilt pangs are so intense and your confrontational skills are so lacking that you spend the wee hours of the morning anticipating incidents and practicing being stern with hard-headed and cocksure trainees who are convinced that they don't actually need to be trained.
Were I feeling better, I'd just go for a run and start the morning, but I'm not. Everyone around me is flaunting their cold, and my defective immune system is trying to convince me that I haven't caught it. Well played, I-Sys, but not well enough.
Three cheers for no nausea though, eh?