Jinx is not a word I believe in. However, about a month ago I began thinking about how long it had been since I was sick. So while I don’t believe in jinxes, they believe in me as I quickly developed my first cold in a long time. I got over it quite easily and was happy to be on the other side of my once a year cold. Or so I thought.
Yesterday, as I was teaching, I felt a little rawness in the back of my throat.
No, impossible, I thought. I had been talking quite a bit, so I chalked it up to being a little raspy because of my amazing lectures. (No, you do not have permission to contact my students to verify.) This denial felt quite comfortable upon my chest that I rode it out for a number of hours. No sickness here. Just a well-used larynx which had brilliantly timed lesson plans flow over it for the entire day. No sickness allowed.
I went home. I refused to drink tea. I didn’t want lemon. No honey. I scolded my throat for taunting me. Of course I couldn’t get sick again so soon.
I went to bed denying the rough burning in my throat that felt like an Indonesian peat-field in the non-growing season.
It was finally in the middle of the night when I pulled myself out of bed did I acknowledge that I was sick. It may have happened when my fire-breathing mouth set our sheets on fire like a moaning, grumpy dragon. (perhaps I hyperbolize a little) It was the middle of the night when I broke down and went to the medicine cabinet looking for a little relief.
So here I am, sick again. Twice in a month. Miserable enough to write about it.
I sit with my tea and honey. My lozenges and my complaining mouth. My grumpiness and my inevitability.
I’m sick. Let me go to bed.