The cold came in a few stages.
First, it was merely encroaching, a friend cancelled because she was sick.
Then, I visited my Adriane and her three sons, all of whom had suffered the wrath for a week at that point. It was part of life already. Runny noses, and every surface just given up for lost. That was when I knew it wouldn't be long.
Then it became part of my surroundings: both roommates were coughing, sneezing, and looking as though they'd been through a pepper spray incident. Tissues filled the trash cans. I briefly considered buying and using some kind of disinfectant spray on the couch pillows... before falling asleep on said pillows, blissfully reliant upon my own immune system.
Precisely when everyone else is turning the corner, and my sympathetic, "how are you feeling today?" has become entirely too trite, and replaced with nothing but a sympathetic nod -- precisely then, I began to sneeze. And cough. Then my body, too, produced and immediately expelled nasally, more mucus than is ladylike to even speak of. (Alright, where are my censors? "Mucus" shouldn't make the cut.)
Second box of tissues: gone.
Eyes: watering.
Lips: outlined in dry red.
I don't say this for pity. No. Wait. Yes, I do. I desperately wanted someone to tell me to go home and sleep for hours on end. I wish I had told you that, when you were sick.
