I feel better, and I don’t quite trust it. You know how these things go: You step out of the shower and proclaim lo, I am healed, set off about your day and feel like crap by noon. I have a full day of training tomorrow in Ann Arbor, and I need all my strength to carry a few bags out of Zingerman’s. So I’m laying low for another 24 hours.
I am not a hypochondriac. This season more than ever anyone who coughs in public faces the wrath of all those standing within germshot, and frankly, I don’t blame them. If only it was like this every year; I remember one flu season when Alan sat between two tubercular hackers, and I had to listen to a 10-minute rant every day when he stepped through the door. There, there, dear, I’d say, pressing a glass of wine into his hand. I sat close enough to hear it all, and I know that even if the coughs themselves were germ-free, the sound alone would send a sane person right over the top.
So one more day. Carry on while I eat some Jell-o.