I’m two weeks shy of a year of daily posts. One more fortnight. I can clearly finish a year here, although the perpetual midnight deadlines have appeared more steep and perplexing in the back nine.
I’m also on the third night of my first cold in a year. There’s a familiarity to the body’s response and its three-act structure. A sore throat introduction, congestion to complicate things, and then chest cold before a final resolution. Each section you’d trade for the other, the different symptoms with their faults and excessive distractions.
But I used to be sick all of the time.
Entire years where it seemed more economical to count the days between symptoms, and short intermissions and pockets of good feelings.
So it’s a fair tax to pay, this occasional bodily function.