Not my kind of party
I swallowed a spoonful of honey tonight, trying to ease an annoying cough. I may have to make a batch of homemade cough syrup, a wicked blend of this and that with enough firepower to burn out any germs that dare lurk, though at this point I don’t think germs are the issue, but instead, their aftermath.
They came, they saw, they had a frat party in my body, and they ran off without cleaning up after themselves, the jerks.
I am reminded once again that I do not have a good attitude about getting sick. It’s actually been 3 1/2 years since I was last sick. I haven’t even had a cold in that time. The earth suit has its frailties, I know. But my heart and mind are lined up with a kingdom where sickness is something to be healed, not tolerated, and I struggle to be all chippy nice-nice about having to deal with it personally.
That said, the human body is amazing. The frat parties happen, and somehow the immune system becomes the campus police and it knows just what to do. I don’t rush to the doctor because I know most of the time my body has the smarts to deal with the invasion on its own. God did an incredible job designing humans. Our bodies can self-repair after some pretty amazing insults.
Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t eventually cough up a few miniature togas and a few tiny red Solo cups…