Adventures in the common cold

What started as an innocent "meh, I don't feel quite right" has blossomed into a full-on rage-fest of germs, snot, puffy face and crabby mood. I may have screamed profanities at my gps lady when she led me in circles around the Hertz car return (which, to find in the off-site St. Louis airport location warrants a sense of traffic and navigation only possessed by people like Sacagawea). I also may have thrown shade at the man holding the B 29 boarding number trying to budge in front of me, B 23. I had barely paid for my Kleenex before desperately ripping it open to catch my runny nose. I am writing this from my window seat, with two nice people next to me who obliged my need to get up and drain the HonesTea I pounded with my decongestant. I do love listening to their banal conversation about Chase Freedom cards and frequent flyer miles. Then it turns to conversations about kids in school. And now that the woman next to me knows I work at a college I'm worried she'll bring me into the conversation. Which generally would be okay if I didn't look like this:

Not pictured: damp Kleenex I'm clutching for dear life.

I take off for Southern California on Sunday. It will require 100% of my mental and physical capability. I can still leave room for the occasional rage at stupid navigation systems, though.