Crossing my path on a chill Saturday night, like a thief it ransacked my health and bore away my powers of thought. Throughout Sunday I lay prone upon my humble futon, shivering and lamenting this unwelcome, yet not completely unexpected visitor. The schemer rapped at my forehead, pounded at my sinuses, scratched at my throat, and tickled my stomach into a hungerless frenzy that left me sparring with faint touches of nausea. Had it not been for the blessing of a three-day weekend, I would've had to drag my aching muscles to work a day early to suffer through my labours. Monday I felt strong enough to leave my warmly blanketed realm to get dressed and go grocery shopping for a few things. It's Wednesday now, and I've been to work two days in a row, though I have toyed with the idea of calling in sick. As it stands, my schedule for the last couple of days has been light enough for me to endure the merry dance of the common cold. I've reached the 3rd level of my oppressor's game, so to speak, and this is the ominous part of my yearly tango with this beast.
There's a tickle at the back of my throat, and without something to quell the cough, life is a noisy growl that threatens to strike me dumb for a little bit. I thought I had lost my voice this morning, but after a few sips of water I was fine enough to warrant going in today. If I do lose my voice tomorrow, I'll have to call in sick, and I would rather not do that. That's what's going on with me right now. Just got back from a visit with the parental units. They got back from Playa del Carmen on Saturday, and my Dad's already back in the bush. I've got plans to go to the library tomorrow and do a book exchange. Reading Trollope's 'The Warden'. The protagonist's a real pawn right now, caught between well-meaning but frustrating folk. That's all I am going to say about that.
I'll need to get some sleep tonight and drink as much orange juice as I can. Otherwise I forecast more lamenting on the morrow. BYE.