Sick of it all

If there is one thing that science has taught me, it is that Viruses are nasty critters. ( or Virii or whatever the multiple of a virus is called. Never thought about that one actually. An infection of viruses? A herd of viruses? A sneeze / A pustule / A phlegm ? I don't know. ) Cursed be those spineless suckers that currently inhabit my nasal cavities.

Probably not a herd.

As you have possibly gathered by now, I have caught a cold. English is a funny language that way. Why would one call it 'catching' a cold? I agree that in earlier times people thought that the infection was caused by cold weather, but seriously? 'Catch' a cold? What are we playing , Pokémon? 

Pikachu! I sneeze on you!

Jokes apart, colds are a horrible thing to catch. Some diseases disfigure, some afflictions are agonizing, some maladies maim and some fevers are fatal. But there are few infections as mind numbingly irritating as the common cold. I don't mean to belittle other diseases or try to build up my cold as a life threatening epidemic. What I am trying to say is that there is something about sitting dully around a room sniffling and sneezing , that sucks the soul out of me.

Much like a Dementor, but with a lot more phlegm and assorted fluids.

Ogden Nash best describes this condition in all its day-ruining glory in his poem " The Common Cold". (I'm going to write the poem out here, so for those who didn't come here to read, scroll down, there's a song for you.)

Common Cold 

Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.

By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!

Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.

Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.

A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds! 

Ogden Nash (Taken from poemhunter.com)

Now , since I have spent the day feeling dull, dreary and gloomy, you get to listen to Amy Lee wailing away in a song that has nothing to do with this post other than its title. Also, Amy Lee may be a wailer, but she is my favourite wailer of all time.