Summer cold

So, I got a cold.

If you catch a cold in the winter, everyone is sympathetic. They tell you to drink hot tea and put on another sweater. A cold in the winter just seems like part of the season, and I can turn the thermostat up and wait it out.

A summer cold is totally different.

A summer cold seems like an act of idiocy. A summer cold feels like I’m being difficult on purpose. I feel I must have done something really stupid — because who gets sick in the middle of the summer? And yet, here we are.

My husband, Peter, takes good care of me when I have a cold. He shows up with all sorts of pills and supplements he says I should ingest. And so I do, but I’m not sure they help. They make Peter happy, and that’s the point. But when I don’t get better after two days, Peter starts to frown at me. He wants me to say that I am at least better than yesterday. But today I am not better than yesterday. Today I am considerably worse than yesterday, and yesterday I was worse than the day before.

Peter does not approve of this trajectory. He feels I am headed in the wrong direction and need to do something to rectify my course. But I don’t know what I can do — besides drinking orange juice and trying to sleep a bit more. Colds take time.

And Peter probably has a point about pushing myself. I felt bad yesterday but attended a Zoom meeting with some ladies I’m very fond of. I had almost no voice when I started, and much less when I was done. Peter gave me a disapproving look.

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