It started as a slight itchiness in the the sinus and a constriction down the throat last Wednesday. Then and there I knew what was coming. But like always, I hoped bodily resistance would come into play and head it off. Heh. Wishful thinking.
I still managed to soldier on through early Thursday afternoon. But later in the day, there could be no denying. I was sick, sick, sick. It hardly helped that I had to stay out late owing to filial obligations.
On Friday morning, I didn't want to get up anymore. No classes, thankfully, so I could sleep in. Would I feel better in the afternoon? I could hope. But in the end, no dice. And once more, the same story on Saturday, the days just blurring into each other: two hours of wakefulness, staring blankly at the TV, munching on leftovers for sustenance, then crawling back to bed for more sleep.
I would have thought sick days were moments for reflection, but that depends what you're down with. A cold, common as it may be, can weigh heavily on the crown, and make all coherent thought impossible. And so, I try to get by, inching forward, and at the end of it, look behind and see how little I've travelled at all.
But that's life, I guess.