Damn Those Germ-Ridden Teenagers

I write to you today from a Nyquil-haze, able to breathe through just one nostril, as it appears that I am, inconveniently, with head-cold. I should have seen it coming, really. Last week, I had a number of sickies in close proximity to me (one of the hazards of this job), and now, well, here I am. Sore throat. Sneezing. Nose that is at turns runny and stuffy. It's times like these when I wish I had a significant other (besides my cat, who's no nurse, lemme tell ya). Either that or a personal assistant, ala Young Hollywood. 'Cause you know what? It sucks having to take care of oneself when one is sick. Not that I require much. Just I'd like it if somebody else would run to the store to buy the pathetic canned soup, or to the drugstore to buy me some Theraflu, which is my favorite, or to the kitchen to get me juice or a cup of tea. As it is, I am on my own. And I'm no nurse, either, when it comes to that.

I suppose I should be thankful that this is the first cold I've had in a long while - with the exception of the horrible illness that I contracted during my travels this summer, which was entirely the fault of germ-ridden airplanes and idiotic ignoring of symptoms that one does when one is in a foreign country. Note to self: this cold will linger for a much shorter period of time if I do not go out until 6AM and drink like a sailor on leave.

And I've got papers still to grade, and my book proposal to finish (though maybe sickness will be good for that - one of my most brilliant feats as an academic was when I managed to ace a literary criticism test and to work earnestly on my honors thesis while having as yet undiagnosed strep throat during my senior year of college), and shit to do for the quasi-admin position, and prep to do for classes tomorrow. But for now? I'm returning to my bed. Maybe I'll read some Potter and drift off to sleep.