There is nothing common about a common cold. Any cold I’ve ever met has been unique, discivious, mean-spirited, clinging, complex and a pain in the ass. Why haven’t they figured out a way to deal with this by now? I think it’s a conspiracy on behalf of tissue makers and cold remedies and chicken soup producers.
The cats accused me of faking it. I saw it in their faces. To satisfy their doubts, I got dressed and went to work on the second day. I knew their concern was about money for Temptations and not my health. When I got to the center to deliver my workshop, it was the wrong day! I cursed the cats as I made the crawl back across the city in a crowded streetcar. Who knows how many new viruses I picked up in that hour and a half.
I actually suspect the guy in the library shot his germs across the table at me when I asked him to talk just a wee bit quieter. Maybe that smirk was really germ warfare? I know about the power of germ welfare. I lived through the murmuring-ex-husband’s research on the subject. I didn’t sleep well for the rest of our marriage.
Wherever this cold came from, it has made a general mess of all of my good intentions.
Did it know I had signed up for the February Fitness Challenge at the gym? Was this to mock my efforts of self improvement?
And…what about giving up Freecell for Lent? Here I am day two of forty justifying games as comforts from sneezing.
And…what about my promise to finish the edits to Annie’s Odyssey by the end of the week? Really, how can I write when nothing, let alone creative thoughts, can make their way through my muddled head and onto the paper?
Or…is this all just another excuse?