I am feeling a bit puny today, as my dear old pappy used to say.
Actually, I am not certain he said any such thing. But that is how I am feeling.
A head cold, I suspect. Stuffy sinuses. A bit of fever. And a cough just one notch down from tuberculosis patient. What doctors call unproductive coughs. Better known to we lay people as the sound equivalent of dry heaves.
When I went to Oregon in early December, I took a variety of the cold with me and suffered a couple of weeks with it. Having won, or at least placed in, each annual hubris award, I was smug at the possibility of returning to Melaque during the cold season and walking through the hackers with the certainty of The Inoculated.
Of course, my pride was better than my science. Catching the flu immunizes you from the same strain. Colds, like love, are forever.
And so mine is. I have resorted to nuclear warfare: Nyquil during the daylight hours. That made church a bit of a nod this morning. And that is too bad because it was a great service.
But I am now in my bed. Drinking hot liquids. And hoping that this will all pass before I climb on that airplane to San Francisco on Friday.
Until then, feeling puny will have to do.
