Thank you Oh Universe for this virus. It was brought to me upon the wheezing, coughing, spuking and sneezing wings of friendship. As such, it is not malicious, but instead, a sign of communion with my fellow man.
Far worse it be to never have a cold. For this would mean my gifts to others were never shared, neither their gifts with me. It would surely mean my demise, at first in spirit, later physically, left a hollowed-out shell of self. It would mean I was isolated and alone: Death to a human.
No, I realize you are but one of a legion of cold viruses that circulate my world, forever re-combining with bits and pieces of each other. I fear thee not… for each time we meet my body learns to defeat another foe. Though it takes a week or two to best you, your specific kind never possesses me again. You and your symptoms are banished from the kingdom of my being for evermore.
You are but an inconvenience. And neither shall I feel much guilt in transmitting your existence to others though I take great care to protect the weak, the old and the very young from your trials. Rather than seeing you as harm, I see you as opportunity. To me, you are an exercise in immunity. I am up for that task.
The occasional lament overheard, those times when what seems like complaint makes its way past these lips, let me explain: It is because my work is being interfered with, nothing more. For this is what men do; work in many ways defines us. Though it is temporary, it is not tolerated, a cold often cursed for daring to detract from noble cause.
Let no one be mistaken: a cold is nothing to a man. Nothing at all.
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