Two kinds

There are two main types of seasonal contagion.

There’s the good kind, producing a sniffle or a cough makes you just poorly enough, and just social-pariah enough, to stay home from work. Yet brain and hands remain nimble and dextrous and you can make and do and read and drink tea. It’s a bonus day bestowed upon you by the universe. It’s a little bit awesome, even if you’ve rubbed raw the stretch of flesh betwixt nose and upper lip (the philtrum, I believe).

Then there’s the bad kind, with symptoms that leave you so wretched that you can scarcely crawl out of bed to deal with basic bodily functions which, most likely, are so perturbed by viral activity that they are more base than basic. Where you hide from the light and wimper a bit.

Guess which one I just had?