This thing what done laid me low was... is... well, unpleasant would not describe it, but the word which would suffice is inappropriate on a blog my mother is likely to read. I've already been wobbly for a week, with sinus headache, post-nasal drip making my throat sore and triggering a nasty cough which decided it wants to become bronchitis, and I had three days of very high fever. Granted, the fever made television programming that much more interesting, and probably amused the cats no end, but it's not very practical for survival, as far as I can see. All it did was piss the germs off, and make them dig in deeper. So I've felt as if I'd been rolled nekkid through a cactus patch, then tossed into a snowbank and had burning straw stuffed down my throat.
As it is, I've lost about three inches from my waist (precisely how many calories are burned in a single deep cough?), and still have little appetite for anything more than stuff I can't have because of my allergies. That's right, I'm allergic to citrus fruits (yes, it's a mild allergy, but one which triggers coughing and wheezing, which I''m already doing profusely).
But don't pity me. My middle finger is still proudly waving in the air, signalling that I will not surrender to this foul humour. Of course, waving that finger about makes accurate typing somewhat more challenging, but, hey, nobody ever said life was easy.
It's not the cough
That carries you ough,
It's the coffin
They carry you offin.
-attributed to Ogden Nash