The Cold: Day Five
Day 227 of his cold. No wait, it was only day five - it just felt like 227.
He rose at 6:30, shuffled to his bathroom intent on rising for the day, but when he returned to the bedroom to change his attire, the bed beckoned to him. He looked to the right - the portal that would take him from this land of rest to the land of toil, then turned back to the left to the bed that seduced him.
“Ten minutes,” he said before he succumbed to the seduction.
Thirty minutes later, he woke with a start. It was after seven, so he forced himself to rise. He shook his head to clear the fuzziness and stood.
After two cups of the magic elixir he was almost awake before he started his workday. It was a busy one and somehow he managed to complete two large projects in between the perpetual interruptions and despite the hacking cough that periodically erupted. He made it through the day without any chemical aids to clear his breathing suffering through the symptoms of infection but able to clearly think. Still, he was exhausted.
His workday complete, he watched the talking heads debate the debate, supped, then sought solace in the Land of Nod.
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