For Whom the Nose Drips

Some of my really prize-winner colds snuck in under the cover of other problems. Like the time in NYC when a cold slowly edged into a full-on fever, but I didn't realize I was getting chills, not just the normal coldness of someone in a loft with no heat.

Also, I'm extremely good at accommodating symptoms. I had a rash of bad ear infections sophomore year in high school, but since my Am Lit class had just hit post-WWI writers, I dug into a pile of Hemingway and stayed there through the month of April.

For reals, if you ever have a splitting earache, I recommend all the early Ernie. It's spare, clean prose without a lot of subtext. In fact, EH took such good care of me that I insisted on going back to school, only to have the girl across from me lean over in the middle of class and whisper "I think your ear is bleeding."

Seldom has blood leaking out of an ear ever given a 15-year-old more pleasure. She was from the school of teenage girl who lives for the moment when she glimpses a tiny flash of white through a four-millimeter gap in the back pocket of your Eddie Bauer backpack, and can loudly hiss in disgust "Is that a maxipad?" But I digress. On this occasion, all I could say was, "Oh, thanks. I'm getting over a bit of an ear infection," and then wiped off the micro-trickle with a Kleenex.

I know I didn't exhibit nearly enough shame or regret for the Girl Who Sees Everything, alas. I wonder if she still goes through life looking for embarrassing slip-ups or stains she can point out. And if so, what on Earth she gets out of it. I mean, when was the last time you checked everyone in the room to see if anyone was bleeding from the ear?

Anyway, this all a rambling way of saying that either I really am getting a cold, or it's just unseasonably chilly in Santa Monica and there's nothing wrong with me that an extra sweater and some shut windows won't fix.