It never fails; I'm always the first person of my acquaintance to catch any free-floating strain of cold or flu virus. In fact, sometimes the first sign I have that the latest virus is loose is that I get sick again. This happens three or four times a year, and this last week. By now I've quit bothering to stop work or chores or anything really. I'd never get anything done if I let a little thing like the flu shut me down. Only once in the last couple years did I actually have to take a break, and it turned out later I'd had Hepatitis A.

The reason I don't kick back is that, while I do get sick with alarming frequency, it is never particularly severe (again, excepting that time in college, and even then it was only bad the one night and next morning). Apparently, my immune system has the same attitude towards work as the rest of my mind: ignore it until this is no longer a possible option, then tackle it all in one go. Most people's seems to practice constant vigilance, but when that one strain slips in the crack, all hell breaks loose. I have asthma. Hell is not allowed to break loose. Heck, sure, but not hell. I don't want to visit that tropical destination anytime soon, and if any part of my body betrays me, it will be my lungs.

In the words of Scott Adams, I had a point when I started all that, but I suspect it was not that compelling. In other news, the story I wrote instead of the anthology piece is now posted in efiction. It's a Harry Potter fanfic, but, hell, I like it. Like Cats and Dogs