I've really tried. I've tried taking care of myself, I've tried sleeping, I've tried resting, I've tried medicating, I've tried sweating, I've tried steaming.
This damn cold won't go away.
Finally, I give up. I'm going with the last line of defense. I reach into the cabinet and pull out ...
Chicken Noodle Soup.
No, not Campbells, although Campbells soup has enough sodium to embalm a mummy, so it should kill whatever ails me. I open up a can of Progresso, and I attempt to soup my cold to death.
So far, I don't feel as if it has been successful, so I might have to chase it all with yet-another cup of tea with honey. Just in case, though, there is a little of the soup leftover in the fridge. If I wake up feeling this way tomorrow, there's a decent possibility that soup will be my breakfast.
Sick of this, though. I finally get a few days off, and my body rebels. This soup had better work. I'm almost out of tissues.
