Posted on

The Head Cold Blues


Woke this morn in a daze, my head bursting with rivers of mucous. I only had to wonder for a few moments where I could have picked up such a lovely set of bugs. I think that I know where I scooped up the hideous bastards. Within thirty minutes, I had decided to cease to fight considering that it was now far too late in the game for preventive measures. I cancelled the day in its entirety, crawled back between my beloved covers, and snored like an irritated (and possibly death adled) lion. I know this because my own snoring woke me several times.)  “Who IS that pissed off demon? Oh, it’s just me.”

I eventually managed, with the help of a vat of sweetened coffee, to churn out the required daily quota of words for my NaNoWriMo ’15 writing project. It wasn’t so bad actually. I think the mounting intensity of my cold became fast playmates with the rumbling intensity of my story.

Now, however, I am in a world of hurt thanks to shirking the necessary trip to the pharmacy to get the good cold meds. I simply did NOT want to get dressed at that time. Now, howevz, it is 1:30 am and I am racked with breath stealing coughs and rapidfire sneezes to the tune of tiny piddles in my yoga pants. Lovely imagery there, yes? One knows that one is truly ill when an adult is reduced to changing her undies on the regular because of urine leakage brought on by body jarring sneezing and coughing.

All in all, I am fortunate to have made it through yesterday’s yoga class without incident. Looking back, the signs of my impending cold were all there. Retrospect, being the bitch of clarity that she is, also dictates that I may have gotten the whole class sick with my budding baby-cold germs. If so, they should be feeling the effects of this glorious cold-monster by morning. I am sorry, gentle ladies of my yoga class. Truly, I did not know.

Suffice it to say that if I can write tomorrow, I think it would be suitable to write a scene with a runny, oozing zombie. All that will be required for a visual muse is a glance into a nearby mirror. A few minutes spent listening to my respitory system will provide all the writing fodder needed to reproduce the sounds of someone succumbing to zombified death.

I just realized with a start that this is a typical sign for me that Fall has just officially moved into winterous territories.  And so it begins…


About Lore Wilde

Writer of horror and flash fiction, student, fast pitch softball mom. Lover of the internet and the gym (strange combo). Always on Spotify jamming out, on a nature trail, in the water, on a trip, cooking, writing, at a live concert, exercising, yoga, meditiating. Prone to sarcastic rants, telling ghost stories, bitching about money or having perpetual fun. Interested in hanging out with creative, kewl people with stories to share. I adore writers...professional, published, or "just for fun". I read a lot, write a lot, and type faster than Hell burns.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s