It is 4:53am, Saturday morning.
This past Monday afternoon I felt the hallmark scratch at the back of my throat which invariably signals that I have passed the point of no return and I will now spend at least a week sick of either a cold or the flu.
Slowly since then I have followed the path of the virus, seemingly just a cold thankfully, creep from the scraping of my throat, turning on the taps in my nose and squeezing my sinuses by early Wednesday to finally setting a fog and a rattle in my chest by Thursday night. All this time I threw countless grams of Vitamin C at it, liquid liquid liquid... even tried to sweat it out by going jogging 3 days in a row in 30°C/90% humidity weather. Got a nice tan, mind you, after collapsing in the sun each time.
Friday night. I stayed home and watched four episodes of James Burke's Connections (again). I figured 3:30am was time to go to bed. Brushed my teeth, blew my sore nose and...
After tossing and turning in bed for all of 10 minutes, I sat up, coughed 3 times and the cold was gone. More or less. Four a.m. is not so good a time to get an influx of energy and health...
I figure by morning, or rather early afternoon, which is when I'll likely get up seeing as it is now 5am, the last of the phlegm will leave me and that will be that.
I hope.
The sky is fading from black to blue and the birds are starting to chirp.
