Sure, you may look cute and fuzzy, but every time you nose your way into my life I’m in for two weeks of hell.
My brain is a wad of cotton batting. My nostrils are at once clogged pipes and a pair of leaky faucets. My throat is raw and sore from the way my sneezes engage it. Medicated, I sleep in occasional catnaps; unmedicated, I don’t sleep at all–which helps a lot with the recuperation process, thanks so very much, you unforgiving little bugger.
But at the same time, being just a cold, you are not enough of an excuse to keep me home and resting so that I may recover full function in good time. All I want to do is lie on the couch staring at the ceiling and waiting to die, but no–oh, no. Still with the going to class (probably infecting others), writing up projects and applications (which make no sense because my brain doesn’t have my qualms about taking sick leave), doing my taxes, finances, cleaning, cooking…all of it through a thick haze of kill me now, please.
So: fuck you, you microscopic motherfuck. Can’t you go pick on someone who’ll only suffer from you for a couple days instead of squatting in my respiratory system for six or eight weeks a winter?
Yeah, I didn’t think so. So I’ll just go do work of inferior quality in all areas of my life, then. Yup. This is going to work so well.
Those who piss me off today will come across the double whammy of contagion and my sleep-deprived wrath. Although my head’s probably too fuzzy to really register anything as anger-inducing. Or anything, period.
sob
(To anybody who comes in pushing vitamin C or echinacea or zinc or whatever else: Yes, I’ve tried it. Many times. No, it never helped. My otherwise hearty immune system seems to be absolutely defenseless in this one area.)