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Sick as a Dog,
How a head cold turned me into a brilliant writer
I am on day thirty-seven of hacking and coughing.
Do not worry. The computer screen doubles as a sneeze guard.
Thirty-seven is a fine number for lottery picks, too high for speedometers on most residential streets, and an awful eternity of days spent coughing and sneezing.
When one is laying sick on the couch, unable to participate in the corporeal joys of life, too achy-eyed even to pry one’s lids open to the visual stimuli of screen time, one must rely on the inner adventure of the imagination.
It’s like premium cable TV without subscription fees.
My sick head generated a seemingly endless stream of strange and fascinating ideas.
Also snot. Lots of snot.
It all started the way many fairy tales do, with a kiss.
This was no ordinary smooch. This was a sloppy lip smack from a toddler who left a trail of viral matter upon my right cheek. Instinctively, I swiped at the slobber. Although I don’t recall, it seems highly likely that a little while later, I touched other…
