Poor, pitiful me

I do not suffer well with head colds. It’s fortunate that I rarely get them. Right now, though, I am fairly certain that I will never recover; I’ll simply stagger to my doom in this cloud that was once my brain.

I don’t know where the creative part of me goes when I feel like this. I can’t get in touch with it at all. Is it hunkered down for the duration, not taking any messages? Or did it check out until it’s safe to return, on vacation somewhere sunny and warm? Whatever the case, I hope to get reacquainted with it soon.

Catching a cold is a random thing. I don’t suppose that we can know who gave it to us, at least most of the time. But what if we could? If someone punches me in the nose, there are various remedies for justice. But who is it that gave me this cold? If we could know this, specifically identify who gave us our head colds, would we develop a system of “justice” for dealing with it? Since we can’t reliably identify the perpetrator, we accept the cold with more or less good grace as just one of the costs of being social animals. But if we could name the guilty party, would we be so tolerant?

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