The sickness is winning

I hate being sick. Hate it with a passion. I always think that, when I feel the illness coming on, I will be able to will it away. You know, repel it with the force of my mind and the will of my soul. Every year, I know... I KNOW!.... that I will beat it back. Every year, of course, I'm disappointed and defeated, but I attack each new illness with the same gusto.
Mom believes in the power of echinacea. Me? Not so much. I mean, she routinely gets pneumonia. I just get bad colds. Case closed. (Love you, Mommy!)
Monday morning I woke up in Pittsburgh (I knew I'd come home with something awful from that town), with a sore throat. I soldiered through, as I do, and made it home with minimal issues. That night, I was sure to get my full night's sleep.
Tuesday morning, still with a sore throat, and added to that a minimal stuffiness in my nose. Tuesday night, nine hours of sleep.
Yesterday I felt a little bit better, was pleased with that, and was determined to follow through with another full night of sleep.
This morning, I've got that icky feeling in the back of my throat, the one similar to having a rolled up wool sock back there that won't really let me swallow too easily, and throbs a bit with every breath. The nose is just beginning to require periodic sniffing and snorting. My voice is getting rougher, and the headache is present. I'm also coughing once in a while.
In a word, bad.
I hate losing the battle. I hate when the sick starts to win.
Fight, fight, fight! Beat them back at the main gates, men! Even now, they can not defeat me!!!