Sickness

I don't really believe in swine flu, or rather I don't think it's as big a deal as the panic is making it out to be. At least, that's what I tell the hypochondriac inside me every morning. Because every morning when I wake up, I perform a little self-exam, checking whether I'm sick or not. Recently, I've been worried about little things, like having a slightly-scratchy throat, or congestion, or all the normal stuff. Hell, I don't think I'd be able to tell if I had a mild case of swine flu, at least not early enough to catch it before it hit me hard.

It's like breast cancer. Every so often, I get nervous and begin doing breast self-exams even though chances are slim that I'll find anything. I mean, I enjoy feeling my own breasts, and if I could get someone else to do the exam for me, so much the better, but I get nervous about it, and there's less to worry about there. I could get swine flu. I don't think I'd die, but it could happen. So I fight over whether or not it is with myself.

Anyway, I'm not dying of swine flu, to the best of my knowledge. I've been around several people who might have it, I guess, but I don't, yet. I sort of wish the whole thing would just get it over with, one way or the other.

Okay, that's about being sick. Now, I think I'll write another post about something else, because you all didn't come to hear about figments of my imagination.