Dear Swine Flu,
It’s hard to choose the worst part of your visit.
Is it the headache that feels as if someone has ripped open the skull, the better to continually pour molten lava inside? Is it the cough that sears the throat and tightens the chest, making breathing a regrettable event? Perhaps it’s the fever that rises and falls like an unpredictable tide, causing us to don and discard layers and blankets with near-manic frequency.
Whatever the worst part is, it makes you a very difficult guest: demanding, insistent on having your way with us, relentless.
And another thing: MUST you share with EVERYONE?
It’s really hard to feel grateful, to maintain my normally-sunny-disposition. I’m looking forward to when you leave. Don’t let the door tag you on your way out.
With very little regard for your feelings,