Bring on the Fall Illness of Doom

My body seems to have some sort of adverse reaction to the autumnal equinox. It seems as though there is some sort of trigger in my brain that goes off every year just as soon as fall begins. My brain apparently takes the opportunity to pass along the following instruction to the rest of my body: "Let's make boogers!"

So these last several days, I have basically been a walking, talking booger factory. Mrs. Smoot has done her best to refrain from complaining about the noises I've been making in the middle of the night, but I'm sure it won't be long before I hear the all-too-familiar "STOMP STOMP STOMP SLAM!" when she gets fed up with me and heads off to the spare bedroom.

And it doesn't help that I've been chugging down the NyQuil, either. See, there's an event this weekend for which I will be the emcee, so I have been fighting this illness rather aggressively so that I don't disappoint these people with an inability to speak. Granted, many of them are probably secretly hoping, based on past performances, that I won't be able to speak, but that's another issue entirely.

NyQuil is a double-edged sword in the battle against colds. On one hand, it does make me feel better, most of the time. On the other hand, it often makes me loopy to the extent that I believe that I can probably fly. And it helps me to view imaginary pink elephants that are dancing through the kitchen.

And I spend a lot more time than normal saying, "Wheeeeeeeeeee!" I do feel wonderful, though.