My body gifts me a Trojan Horse before launching an attack.
Monday and Tuesday I was filled with pep and vim (neither word has been colonised for caffeine laden drinks as far as I know) and actually felt productive. Heaven forbid, I think there was even a corner of me that actually wanted to go to work and contribute. I felt so great I felt like I should have run ahead of myself to announce I was coming.
Then the first early warning signal of imminent attack was fired over the parapet. My nose bleed. Sitting quietly at my desk, working away and I felt a slight sniff and there was the divine blood running from the divine nostril. It was then that I knew my body had being playing silly buggers with me.
I have no idea why, but often my nose will spontaneously bleed hours before I feel the first symptoms of a cold. Perhaps my genes are adhering to some medieval ritual of blood letting to let the evils out, but it certainly embarks on its own course of illness.
Confidently, I announced to Minerva, who had kindly not commented on the large white tissue rammed into my left nostril when she walked into my office to gain my signature on a form, that I was about to get a cold. She asked no more questions, knowing from experience that my pronouncements often do not bare close scrutiny, yet somehow come to fruition. The goddess skills and all that…
By the following morning I had what could only be term a cold, which seemed to take up major positions as a dry cough and a raspy throat. Why do men often sound sexier when they get a cold that causes them to get a deeper voice? I sound merely like fingernails racking over sandpaper.
From there my disease progressed in a downward spiral until now I feel as though I a resident molecule in a flu germs navel, where I endeavour to dry cough myself to a gagging regurgitation of my lungs with a desperate fight for breath before the floor show starts again.
Fear not though, I am not leaving my work undone, my students untended, oh no, I have the great timing to have ensured that I am sick on my vacation! Life doesn’t get much better than that, does it? Well, not in my neck of the germ navel anyway.