Things Fall Apart, The Center Cannot Hold

The fulminating battle between virus and host ended badly last night. The host lost. At 4 am I was staring at the ceiling, mouth-breathing, afraid to get up to turn down the fan because I knew I'd get a chill because of the fever. So I'm stuck here at home today, having long since stopped trying to keep track of exactly when I took which cold medicine. Joints are achy, head is achy, nasal membranes are swollen and painful, and now my lungs are getting involved. I had been trying to hold everything together since Saturday, but as Yeats so eloquently put it, and with appropriate apologies for taking it completely out of context, "Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world." Indeed, "mere anarchy" well defines my current condition. Hopefully there will be some improvement tomorrow or any chance of riding the Mississippi Gran Prix will be gone. I mean, racing with a little fever and stuffy nose is one thing; racing with a chest cold is quite another.