The Undermining Influence of a Stuffy Nose.

No matter how well-adjusted I may have become (though many will laugh off-hand at the questionable nature of that first sentence segment), a stuffy nose and a sore throat can tear me right back down to my miserable, self-doubting, doomsday inner-cliffdiver.

One day, I breathe pine-scented air through clear nasal passages and laugh coarsely through a glassy smooth trachea. On this day, I will get the job. On this day, I am an incredible woman, gifted seven-fold by all the wonderful charms that can rain down on one incredible woman. I smile at myself under demurely lowered lashes and think, "God, I'm incredible." I laugh at my own almost-too-clever jokes. I amaze myself with my quick wit and provoking intellect. On this day I know that I will find the perfect balance between independence and mad love.

The next day, I notice that the scent of pine tickles my nose and causes me to sneeze. Then I can't breathe at all. My throat itches like someone has stuffed it with pink fiberglass insulation. My heads throbs. And it occurs to me that I will not get the job. That my nose is as awkward as a mountain atop a molehill. That my eyes are dull and watery. That I'm uglier than the guy from Thus Spake Zarathustra. That I have cellulite. And that, where I do not have cellulite, I am too skinny. That I'm not nearly as smart as I think I am. That I'm also not funny or charming. That I am weak and pathetic and that there is no mad love in the world for me. It's all been spent on someone else. Someone more deserving.

I hate head colds.