Pestilence

I am writing this blog on Friday January 30, 2015. Christmas Day 2014 (December 25, for anyone unfamiliar with Christmas) I contracted a viral infection. I believe I caught the bug on a plane en route to Saskatoon. I could be wrong. I could have caught it from a telephone, or a human being, or a turnstile. All I know is that for just over five weeks (has it only been five weeks?) I have had a cough that rattles everything in my vicinity.

At week three I broke down and went to my doctor. She asked if I wanted antibiotics, just to shut me up. I relented and said yes, even though I knew they wouldn't do anything. They did do something though. They made my face swell up. I looked like Phil Kessel should, every night he is on the ice trying to pretend he's a team player. I dislike Phil Kessel. In fact, I dislike the Toronto Maple Leafs. No -- I find the storied franchise and its fans preposterous. But that is another blog...

Excuse me, I just dredged up some mucus, in the shape of Phil Kessel.

My cough erupts from a gooey subterranean nether region, somewhere between Michigan and Hades. If Boris Karloff had a baby, it would look like the chunks I hork. I sound like a gunner who smoked three packs a day on the Eastern Front.

Has it only been five weeks?

I don't know why I am so sick. The human body is a marvellous thing, when it is not gross. This is not a bacterial infection, and I don't have pneumonia or whooping cough. It is simply a persistent invader. Kinda like Phil Kessel should be, in the offensive zone.

I will shake this off soon. Either that, or I will be pulling along an oxygen tank on the subway. One good thing -- people move away from me on the TTC. It's great, but a little sad.

So, don't cry for me Argentina. Cry for Leaf Fans. I will be okay.

When is Dyson going to invent a vacuum for post-nasal drip?

Stay warm.