I have, I am less than thrilled to report, a cold.
Happens about twice a year, like clockwork, where I’m concerned. Once with the onset of winter, and then again when winter bids adieu. Every year, without fail, for I don’t know how many years now. And I don’t know where you stand where colds are concerned, but I loathe the blasted things.
There are, I’ll grant you, a few positives. A cold gives you license to slurp down as many bowls of soup as you like, and I take to that task like a man possessed. It also gives you license to curl up in bed, under multiple blankets and do nothing more than read books all day long. The missus will let you know, and at considerable length, about how I don’t need a cold to do this, and about how on most days it is all I seem capable of doing (all of which is quite true), but at least a cold allows you to do this without pricking your conscience. Plus, a cold also allows one to plaintively ask of anyone within a ten meter radius whether they’d mind making one more cup of tea. Protip: I play this card as often as possible, and I’d strongly encourage you to follow suit.
So it’s not all bad, I’ll grant you that.
But the downsides, I’m sorry to report, are considerable. Your energy levels remain lower than the scruples of the leader of the free world. Your nasal blockages bring forth memories of the ghat section of the Expressway on New Year’s Eve. Long time nicotine addicts take notes and cast admiring glances in your direction when you go into a coughing spasm. And the worst part of it all is that heavy, dull ache that rests around your forehead and nose all day long – in fact, the only way to know that you are on the mend is when you wake up in the morning and realize that all of what has been just described no longer applies to you. Best feeling ever, I tell you.
Alas, that day, for the undersigned, is not today. And that’s another thing about colds – there exists no medicine that cures them. None, and let no one tell you otherwise. You can stuff down your throat all the pills and expectorants you like, and you can try as many herbal concoctions as you like – a cold leaves you when it is ready, and not before. About four to five days, in my case. All you can do is try and make yourself feel better in the interim, by the methods described above.
Speaking of which, and if it’s alright with you, I’ll be getting back to my book. Poirot is just about to announce who the murderer is, and I can’t wait. Plus, with all this writing, it’s been awhile since I have played the “chai *sniffle* milega *cough, cough*?” card. Maybe if I add in a third *cough* towards the end, I’ll get one with ginger and lemongrass.
Worth a try, I’d think. No?
He doesn't expect the paradox to be resolved in his lifetime