Here I sit, hacking away and cursing my lungs.
I've managed to develop a full-fledged summer cold. Summer colds are so much more indignant than winter colds because human beings are supposed to be sick in the winter time. That's when it's ok to hibernate and live in a blanket fort from November to January.
But summer time is when people are supposed to be all hail and hearty and whatnot.
And even though our "summer" has been filled with middling, grey-skyed days, I still feel as though my immune system has betrayed me.
At first, I tried the patented "just pretend that there is no cold" strategy to see if I could fool my body into ignoring the cold.
I did this by partaking in an evening 5k run in honour of the Summer Solstice. I wheezed my way through the race, wolfed down a celebratory hot dog and stumbled into bed a little after midnight.
I was all excited because I thought that the mixture of running + greasy food had cured my lingering sore throat.
The next morning I woke up in a pile of pain. I felt like I had swallowed an entire porcupine and it was bristling with rage inside my throat.
Oh, and I sounded both husky and stuffed up. Which is a super sexy combination.
I basically spent the weekend moaning around the house and coughing like someone in line for an iron lung.
I wisely avoided work on Monday.
I not so wisely braved work today. I was promptly sent home. I suppose my protestations of "I'm FINE" coupled with deep, horrible coughs did not actually convince anyone.
So, now I'm back home feeling vaguely sorry for myself and trying not to be utterly distracted by own wheezy breathing patterns.
At least Adam's been distracting me with Season 1 of "True Blood". Saucy southern vampires make convalescence a little easier to handle.