where the writers are
Quack, Quack

Abed, empty, a vase without flowers. Sunshine and autumn leaves play outside my window.

Were I a coldologist, I could track this puppy from when it first appeared on my radar to the moment.   The cold was a small, dispersed feeling to start, buzzing in my ears and head, mild congestion in my throat, and a little difficulty swallowing. 

The congestion intensified, moving south into my lungs, settling mostly in my left lung.  It slowed, gathering strength.  Its effects were soon felt as far north as my brain and my eyes, which felt they were flaming globs of fire.  As the cold built strength, it moved back into my throat.  I lost my voice.  Periods of intense coughing prevailed and the burning eyes and severe headache remained.  As those at last abated, I thought it was over but the cold slowed and continued traveling north into the upper edges of my throat, then forward into my nasal and sinus cavities.  After forty-eight hours, the system then moved up into my brain.

Coughing was less frequent and congestion dropped off but pain tipped into stratospheric levels.  My hair and scalp hurt, marveling me.  These were like the formed scab as attractions go, and I could not stop touching where my hair and scalp hurt. That pain drifted away today, replaced by pain in my ears. Frequent explosive series of sneezes manifested themselves. I fell asleep and awoke wet.  Had I spilled something?  My body, hair and clothing were drenched.  Was this all just sweat, or had I pissed myself or spilled my drink?  But no glasses were around me to convince me it was anything but sweat. 

Tea, water, juice, soup and rest, augmented by tissues, cough drops and aspirin, defined my course of treatment.  The typical cold medicines displace me too much, sending my thinking into lost, woozy spirals.  Everything becomes a surreal Dali moonscape. I'd rather cope with the physical issues than do that to my brain and mind.

I did meditate to alleviate symptoms.  This has been particularly successful the last twenty-four hours.  I couldn't seem to focus the energy to meditate before then.  As meditations took hold, the familiar deepening of self took effect.  Heart palpitations began, then it felt like I was a yuletide log, full ablaze in the hearth.  Both are normal to me when meditating to combat specific issues.  The heat level becomes amazingly high before relief arrives. In one instant, I meditated against congestion.  Starting, I seized handfuls of tissues, applying them as my nose and mouth both ran with fluids being expelled.  I felt so much better after that, and went into a deep but short sleep.

The best comfort food? Mashed potatoes with butter.  They settled me and made me 'feel better' more than anything else tried. 

My coughs varied by the cold's location.  When the cold was in my lungs, my cough was a loud and prolonged harsh whooping that originated in my diaphragm. As the cold moved back into my throat, the became harder, with longer and more spastic periods, forcing tears to stream down my cheeks and spending my energy like a gambler in a casino. My abs were used more to cope with these coughs. 

Later, as the cold scaled my throat, my cough became ducklike to my ears, "Quack quack, quack quack," a noise that seemed to surprise the cats.  Their surprise amused me. I laughed at their disturbed looks.

Laughter, sneezing and coughing does not work together as well as, say, peanut butter and chocolate, or cheese and wine.  I coughed and laughed till my chest and abs ached, gasping for breath and wheezing, which amused me more.  What a prize I am, I thought.  Such a prize.

Then I laughed and coughed and sneezed more.

The Gingerbear King was great through all of this. I moved around the house, seeking comfort, trying not to disturb my wife.  Each day, the Gingerbear King hunted me down and lay beside me, a comforting presence.  He remained as I rose to urinate, get more tissues and dispose of the used collection, and fortify myself. 

The Writer peeked out of my city of thoughts this morning to announce he had ideas and could we go to the computer to type?  No?  Then would I mind grabbing a notebook and pen? 

Sorry, bub, I told him.  I need to sleep.  I craved deep sleep.  It finally arrived about five this morning.  I slept until ten, my longest period of sleep since the cold system first appeared. 

To be fair, The Writer has been trying to force his way out for the last twenty-four hours.  The cold had silenced him for a while but then he began to call in ideas until he could appear himself.  Still, I couldn't indulge him.  The best I could offer him was this blog post this afternoon. Blogging requires little energy and thought.

The cold is mostly dissipated now, it seems. I'm wary of calling all clear. This cold system has fooled me twice before.  I now have a dull ache in my head.  Energy levels are low. Throat mildly sore, with occassional late coughing and periodic light nasal drips.

Looking forward to feeling better. I hope it's tomorrow but now I have a backache.  Could it be that the cold has moved again?

I need to be over this.  I'm looking forward to writing like crazy.