A bit mental.

Home sick today.  Had about two days without illness. last week.  The cold I'd developed on the last day in Saigon was over.  The inevitable bronchial cough/no voice/sore throat thing had finally gone.  Friday arvo, last period, and I'm strolling around the year 10 class room, TGIF-ing in my head, when one dripping young man requests tissues, miss.

Now I have been known to spray around a toxic student with Glen-20 - kills 99 percent of airborne viruses - but thought it was a bit early in the year to pull that one. 

'You really shouldn't come to school when you're that sick, Jarrod,' say I, trying to hand him tissues whilst keeping out of the germ zone. 
'I wasn't sick this morning, miss,' he snuffles, eyes and nose simultaneously streaming.
'Well, you should go home instead of infecting us all.'

Sound callous, don't I? But it's all said in good humour and Jarrod returns to his seat with his soggy tissues.

'Anyway, I've gotta work after school,' he says.
'Where at?'
'KFC.'

Great.  Infect the entire neighbourhood.

Come Sunday, I'm shaving my 83 year old dad's face, trimming his hair, as you do when you're that daughter, when I get that feeling in the back of my nose.  Avert my head to sneeze several times, razor in my right hand, left hand resting on dad's bald pate.  Jeeze, I think.  If dad gets this cold...

He's not a well man and he's just out of hospital after having surgery.  But it's been a couple of days now and he's not showing any symptoms. 

It's a bit of a bother that I seem to pick up everything that's going, given I'm a teacher.  I've resumed my OCD vitamin pill popping.  I'd let it go, given its alleged implications in early mortality in women of a certain age.  Something I read somewhere last year.

Seems I'm going from one upper respiratory thing to another.  Bit worrisome.

But perhaps more concerning is the idea that I'm writing about this, and if you've got this far, that you're reading it?

(Press publish? Yeah, why not?)