‘It’s only a cold!’ people say irritably. ‘The common cold! Man up!’
Frankly, I am not feeling remotely like manning, womaning or even adolescenting up; in fact, my current response to life – in those precious seconds when I am not producing window-rattling sneezes, gravelly snorts and blowing my nose with all the ferocity of a rampant boar about to charge, spume gushing from my eyes like some kind of localised tsunami – is decidedly lukewarm. I am unenthusiastic, unmoved, tepid, so snot-ridden and feverous that I feel like weeping with misery or barking like an enraged seal; my usual fire and feist is battened down by the bloody virus, and the grey scene outside most certainly does not inspire my lukewarm state to progress up the ladder to fiery heat – nor, come to that, to slither down the serpentine coils to sinister froidure.
Poor old Jumble hasn’t had a proper walk since Friday because I am feeling so jelly-legged and weak that it’s all I can do to open the back door and usher the canine out into the garden!
This too, as the saying goes, shall pass – and I am sure it will; I am certain that, with time – and a patience I do not, at present, possess – I will leap out, all fizzing passion, decibel-rich laugh and wild enthusiasm for, and interest in, life once more.
Last night was virtually sleepless: Ricocheted from the deep and dreamless by regular nasal explosions, head and sinuses throbbing like a hive of pissed-off bees and eyes which seemed, in the knackered paranoia of 1.30 (2.30, 4.15…) am, to be aping Noah’s Flood, I had to grit my teeth in order to avoid lying on my back and having a tantrum a la Violet Elizabeth Bott, or hacking off a vestigial organ (a middle toe, for example) in order to displace the viral suffering!
So, forgive me if my usual courtesy is replaced by a touch of the screaming harridans, my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-fucked-off and my enthusiasm level is on a par with that produced were I to be asked to ingest fried moose penis.
If anyone tries to tell me to cheer up, be brave or stop whingeing, I may well be forced to breathe my germs upon said person (bacterial warfare) – and then weigh in with insensitive sanctimonious phrases when my victim succumbs to germ-frazzled lukewarmness!