I did everything right.
You know I did—I told you about it last week. I avoided as much human contact as possible: on-line shopping, conference calls. I all but wore a mask if anyone so much as thought about breathing on me.
I didn’t go outside without a coat. I got my flu shot, ineffective though it may be. I stayed dry. I stayed warm. (Especially my feet—my new slippers are all I dreamed they’d be.)
And yet, still, it happened.
I got sick.
It began last night. Around 8 pm, I was tired. Really tired. But I didn’t think much of it—I’d gotten up early, had a productive day shoveling snow and writing.
Then the sniffles came. Allergies, I told myself. January allergies. Probably from the snow. Just a runny nose from the cold when I went outside to get the mail…five hours ago.
The sore throat I woke up with put an end to my denial. There’s only one reason for this kind of scratchy, painful throbbing, and that’s being sick. Add to that the continued sniffles and achy legs, and you have the trifecta of winter cold symptoms.
If I have to be sick, today is a good day for it. It’s too cold to go outside, I don’t have to work, and I’ll have the Steelers game to (hopefully) entertain me. We had a snow storm on Saturday and I’m one of those crazies who buys bread, eggs, and milk the night before. I live in the suburbs and have never been trapped in my house due to weather for more than 24 hours, and I have approximately fifteen years’ worth of canned goods in the pantry, but it never hurts to be prepared.
So I’ve got plenty of food. Now all I need is an appetite.
Until it comes back I’ve got hot tea and Sandra Brown.
And now, dear reader, I’m worn out.
Time for a nap.