I have a bit of a cough in my chest now, and I blame the fellow in the doctor's office last Friday, where I was sitting in the waiting room for a cholesterol test. This individual had evidently finished whatever he was there for, but he stood there gabbing with the receptionist for a good fifteen minutes, coughing up a juicy phlegmy unpleasantness the whole while. After a while of this, I moved to a more distant seat from the scene of this activity, but had my doubts that a one-over-R-squared behavior obtained when it comes to the spread of upper respiratory ailments.
I felt it Saturday morning on my way into the gym, the congestion in the chest and the sneeziness, but got through spin class without much hacking away at all. I had my hopes that the artificial fever induced by exercise and steam would knock down the invader. My main concern was for Sunday morning, where I was committed to sing a solo (Alleluia, John 14:23).
Is it that people don't know about the germ theory of illness? Or that they don't care? I saw a man out yesterday with a facemask on, perhaps to protect against SARS or something, perhaps just because he was cleaning out his basement and didn't like the dust. I'm thinking about whether I ought to take measures to be able to do the same.
Today brings a cold, steady rain. Wonder whether we are going to go ahead with the Memorial Day parade in Cresskill after all. I do believe I'll go see whether I still have a bottle of Echinacea around.
Suggested soundtrack for this note: Ernest Tubb's old song The T. B. Is Whipping Me written for Jimmie Rodgers and performed by Wilco.