Swine Flu

... is what I'd like to call this cold 'cause it sure is a swine. Seriously, I can't remember having EVER had such a horrible cold in my life. On Thursday, I actually thought I was on the road to recovery, but apparently talking for hours chez Mademoiselle on Thursday night followed by soliloquising for the greater part of 1.5 hours at a client meeting on Friday morning followed by a lunch-date was not a good idea as far as my vocal cords and throat were concerned. Worse even than the prospect of losing my voice as I had this May was my runny nose which had me go through tissues in record speed and a constant feeling someone had lined the insides of my nostrils with a potent blend of wasabi and dijon mustard. Mid-afternoon I could not stand it any longer and dragged the sweaty sneezing mess that was me home to continue filling wastebins with snot-sogged in the privacy of my bedroom.

People who know me well can confirm that whereas I have no reservations at all about playing drama queen and holding endless pity-parties when heart-ache is the reason, I like to play tough and hardly ever complain about physical ailments. On the contrary, I'm a firm believer that going to work (unless you have a contagious illness or are projectile vomiting) is preferable to being officially sick at home as it takes your mind off your ailments and speeds up recovery.

As I was lying on the sofa, tears streaming down my cheeks from the sheer force of my sneezes, the summer sun blazing outside I vowed to do anything in my power to make this the last cold of this year - fingers crossed.

Two people (MC and Mr. TD) sweetly offered to run errands for me or bring me drugs, should I be bedridden. I was duly touched!