As I've mentioned before, I'm no good at having a cold. The first few days are fine, I pull the virus over my head like a big blanket and snuggle. I get into the dizziness, experiment with whether to feed or starve, swallow fistfuls of supplements and feel noble about that.
But here we are Day Seven of this particular rhino-monster, and I'm getting panicky. I can't write, I can't think. I can function, but only on Speed Low (and baby, this machine generally runs on Speed Moderate-High). Virus... be gone!
SO... just for you, here's a sonnet I wrote once during another cold. It was winter, it was stormy, and I didn't feel so good:
The Viral Sonnet
Birds chat and shudder water from their wings
Ants swarm my office; papers, book, and clutter
Rivulets still race into the brimming gutter
But the storm is passed. The new day brings
nothing. I wait for lungs to stop their cough
I wait for oozing sinuses to drain
I wait for aspirin, codeine to wear off
and vibrant energy to vanquish pain.
Please stop this tap tap pounding in my head,
Look! It’s morning! Even rain has gone to bed.