I am a sickly toe. The kind of toe that hangs flaccid from the foot yelping for a woolen sock. A toe that is black and blue and green around the edges. A toe that has been stomped on or banged up against every five minutes for the last two days. It's hard to do anything aside from drip nasal fluid into a soggy hanky and look at glossy images of supermodels and other rare mammals. Reading is a blur, writing feels like a foreign language between birds and whales. My tongue is swollen and I have absolutely no desire to eat. Everything tastes like mop sandwiches.
But being sick does give me a sort of clarity. It allows my body to recallibrate (and hopefully my brain will follow). It's been a year since my last bout of yuckems and I should be grateful for having such a healthy disposition. Some folks don't have it that easy. Some folks are born with Bardet-Biedl Syndrome.