Hello, readers (ew, seriously so boring and overdone. I feel like I need to brand you guys like Lady Gaga's Little Monsters or something.)
Today I got a cold and it was my microcosm of an apocalypse. For someone who takes care of her health to a meticulous degree, and as a result always feels STELLAR (I'm talking +2 hours of exercise a day, a solid blend of complex carbs and protein, at least eight hours a night), you can probably imagine the uproar that was my body upon learning my lymph nodes were swollen.
A blog is a terrible place to complain about an itty bitty cold. But herein lie the therapeutic properties of writing! (You hear that, Obamacare? Cheap health care right over here. Going once, going twice.)
Whenever something feels minutely wrong with my body, my mind shuts down along with it. I'm too busy panicking that my cold will transmogrify into this full-blown calamity resulting in puddles of phlegm and a post-root-canal puffy face. But those are all pretty one dimensional reasons to fear sickness. In truth, being sick is your body's sly way of telling you to chill out and take the escalator once in a while. We can't ALL be decathlons, all the time. Or can we?