Wouldn’t you know it?  You spend months planning a trip — including a couple months re-planning when your original destination goes all crazy and shooty — and what happens the Sunday before you are supposed to leave?  You get that scratchiness in your throat, like you were eating sandpaper again for some reason.  You think, “huh,” suck down a couple Ricola, and try to get some rest.  But is that the end of it?  Noooo.  Next comes the sneezing and the mucus and the “hell no, I’m going to be sick now.”  But you’re actually sort of sick.

I blame my coworkers.  And those people that — despite my utter lack of trying to prevent them — still get on my train in the morning AND the afternoon.  And probably that guy on Friday who was coming back from his smoke break and decided to stand right next to me in the elevator.  I couldn’t breathe then and suddenly I couldn’t breathe on Sunday night.  Don’t tell me that’s not a coincidence.

Fortunately, the throat thing only stuck around for a day, but that was long enough to set off my sinuses.  Not that they needed much to be set off.  This year’s wet-two-days, dry-two-days spring weather has really been doing a number on them.  This past weekend were some of the wet days, and now we’re in the dry part of the cycle, so a bit of a bug was the only push those ol’ sinuses needed.

But things will be OK.  I’m catching a few extra ZZZs each night — which is not as easy as it would seem when you’re trying to get everything squared away for your trip — and the congestion is just about gone.  Ah, it’s good to have a fairly robust constitution.  I think all will be well when I get on that plane.  I’m quite sure I’m not infectious or anything like that — which would be the only thing that would keep me from going.  (That, and a couple jack-booted thugs from the CDC.)  And even then I’d kind of have to think about it.