I am too old to have a cold.
I am too old to have the flu.
I am too old to be allergic.
This is not Dr. Seuss. It is the gospel truth according to Carolyn Brown. Sometimes I think my body has an agreement with the universe. When it gets tired and worn down, then the universe zaps it with something that puts a complete and sudden stop to everything.
I did not even see the stop sign coming.
I did not even hear the train whistle blowing.
I did not even feel a little sneeze.
Until it hit me like a ton of bricks a week ago today. Sore throat. Muscle aches. Head ache. And yet there was a deadline looming ahead and characters yelling at me in my head to tell their story. My body was saying to take a pill (I am very drug sensitive and an aspirin knocks me on my fanny for hours) and I knew if I did, the characters would waltz through my dreams in the most bizarre ways (I do not write science fiction but romance so that would not work at all, no sir!) Then the sneezes started and the tissues started building up in the trash can.
When I was a child, this thing was called a cold. Then as I got older it was called the flu or sometimes it was just the allergies acting up. But whatever it is, I have sent it on the way to the nearest hypochondriac. I hope that person loves it and treats it well and keeps it the rest of the winter.
I do not want the dang thing back.
I do not want to sneeze again.
I do not want to take more pills.
I am however thinking serious of putting some money into stock in the toilet paper company. I ran out of tissues the first day and developed an close and there are many of those little inner rollers testifying in my trash can about how much of a cold/flu/allergies I have had. This week I am feeling almost human again. The bathroom scales say that I have fed this cold very well and that I gave it the strength to go on to that afore mentioned hypochondriac.
Every single pound was worth it!