Dread Becomes Her

Ah, yes, the lovely sense of foreboding that the deep, hacking cough - despite its occasional occurrence - is just the beginning of an illness that is going to make me wish I was dead.  I should not be surprised that illness may lie deep within since I rode in the Truck of Death with my mother on Saturday. With all her hacking and sneezing, I felt my mammalian instincts kick in and the "disease alert" blared in my mind even though there was no escape. Despite the roomy interior of the Silverado, I was trapped and subject to whatever particles were being spewed into the air.

Of course, there is the possibility that my cough is nothing much at all, like a chunk of ice floating in the water not being a ship-sinking iceberg.