I’ve reached the point in a cold at which I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I actually found myself researching the inventor of Kleenex, which apparently had their origins in 17th Century Japan. Who knew?
My mother raised her daughters to use handkerchiefs but this cold has surpassed my willingness to launder even my extensive supply. I’m carrying a tissue box from room to room. I’ve taken a hot shower, read a decent but unchallenging police procedural, consumed crackers and hot tea multiple times, and slept on the world’s least comfortable couch under the soft blanket that Jennie Taggart Wandfluh gave me for Christmas.
The dog doesn’t know what to make of my constant hacking. She casts a baleful eye in my direction when I sneeze. I’m out of juice and discovered that I have no idea what vegetarians do instead of chicken noodle soup.
I’ve watched ten Beat Bobby Flay re-runs and hit the “like” button on all of my friends’ posts on Facebook. I stood outside for ten minutes breathing cold winter air, huddled in a purple robe, my feet encased in the slippers that my son bought me for Christmas last year. I videographed the flags that my neighbor installed for me, replacing the broken brackets. I talked to my sister on the phone for a hot second, between coughs and sneezes.
The day draws to a close. I tell myself, It’s only a cold. Sunday looms; and afterwards, another brutal work-week. But I’m not complaining. I saw the sunrise. I got no bad news today. I survived. I even found the energy to make fun of myself over a few little foibles that I had forgotten I had, like not being able to drink tea that isn’t scalding hot and preferring to be alone in my misery when I’m sick.
But thank you, Angie, Jenny, and, via Jenny, Kurt for the offers of help. It’s nice to know you’d be there if I need anything. To be honest with you, what I need is the ability to reclaim my sense of humor on a permanent basis, and that healing I have to do for myself. A couple of days of forced solitude might give me a long overdue boost.
It’s the fourth day of the thirty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.