I'm not sure who I talked to or met a week ago, but they gave me something. Something that flew through the air, into my body and to that weird, murky place in my body that incubates badness. I went to sleep on Sunday night feeling fine, although I was tired. Tired is always good on a Sunday night, since the work week begins a mere eight hours or so later. I woke up about half way through the sleep and noticed I had a tickle in my throat. And my nose was stuffed up. A few hours later when the radio went off, it was not gone. If anything, it seemed to have gotten stronger.

A defense was in order. I'd had a strange allergy reaction back in October, which had the appearance of a cold, but wasn't contagious. From that time I had the remnants of cold defense: a few cough drops, a bit of cough syrup and lots of vitamins. I poured extra Vitamin C down the gullet, sucked on zinc lozenges and drank hot tea. Although I was a little spacey at work from the extra cold fighting going on, it wasn't too bad. I felt that if I downed the rest of my cough syrup, took some of the old medicine lurking in the cabinet that expired about three years ago (Is using old medicine kind of like using old condoms? I'm not sure, but it seemed to work okay.) and took it easy, I'd be fine by morning.

It was a good theory, I thought. Since I'd started working on the cold at almost first symptom, and by the time I went to sleep Monday night, I thought the worst was over.

Truthfully, Monday was the worst day, but this stuff sticks around longer than it should. Like that girl you picked up in a delirium of alcohol and hormones, only to realize that judgment might have been impaired past acceptable levels, leading to the screaming match and losing a shirt or some other article of clothing to the gods of scorned women. The worst was over, but the battle would continue.

I had withdrawn most defenses back to pre-Monday morning levels by Tuesday, believing that I had done enough to prevent a nasty, full-blown cold. My office mate came in with a mean look on her face, because she had fallen under the spell of a cold. She was about to go on a business trip to Chicago and had a sinus infection. I offered my treasure trove of lozenges, cough drops and nasal sprays, but she curtly informed me that she was covered. Then added, "I'm gonna kick your ass if you gave me your cold."

Another co-worker (who was also headed for Chicago) came in and had the same crud I'd begun fighting the day before. She took me up on my offer for cough candy, making me feel a little bit useful, considering some of their suffering might have been my fault.

As far as I know, the cold hasn't spread wholesale throughout the office. One of the big bosses, who was wondering what I was going to do Friday night as we pissed in the men's room, mentioned that he felt fine. He'd had a flu shot. Had I had a flu shot?

No.

Is this why they pay for some of our health insurance--so we remember to make appointments for ailments that haven't happened yet? I'm not a hypochondriac by any standard, so I never really think of prevention until the time has really passed. My bad, I guess.

It was Wednesday, I think, when I started reading the stories about the cold or flu bug that covered the state of New Mexico in almost record time. Apparently I was not the only one not immune. Thousands of people descended into the land of mucus flows and throat clearing. I felt better about this, realizing that it probably wasn't just me who passed the bug to others. It makes me feel, kinda, like I'm part of the big party. Of course, the party isn't really a lot of fun, and no one is drunk and stripping on top of the dining table. Mostly people are hacking up a lung and then forlornly sighing, "Oh, I feel awful." The kind of party where you start looking around for something to steal, just to make the experience worthwhile.

Now, almost a week later, it feels like I'm pretty much over it. The sore throat left almost immediately, but the stuffed up head has reared its mucus mass from time to time throughout the last seven days. But even that is receding.

Hopefully by the time I get behind the desk tomorrow, the cold will just be an ugly memory. Forgotten until the next time a cold comes around, and I have to scramble my meager cold defense forces.

Matt Worley has a contagious personality these days.