A small, moderately true story, to make up for the lack of a post this morning:
As with all people, I am occasionally ill. I feel like I become ill rarely, but that it tends to linger for quite some time. Once, I had a cold which began in my throat as a creeping, thirsting soreness. Then it traveled upward, to the back of the roof of my mouth and from there on into my sinuses and my ears.
It nested in my sinuses, snuffling me up for weeks. It didn’t matter how much I blew and blew my nose, it felt as though pillows of snot had taken up residence, gumming up the cavities in my face and heavying me. I could breath only through my mouth, or, if I was lucky, through a small canal opened in the congestion by continuous effort.
The snot dripped down the back of my throat, which had since healed and become un-sore — but the post-nasal drip brought the soreness back, and I entered a loop. It became a cycle: sore throat traveled upward into sinuses, which dripped back down into my throat.
Throughout, the congestion remained. I couldn’t be rid of it. It didn’t matter how I slept or how hot I brought the steam in my shower. It didn’t matter how hard or how often I blew my nose. Until, one day, it did. It was an odd feeling, as though I had somehow angled the blast of air just right; as though I had found the perfect pathway through which to blow it.
Something came loose, thudding out of my nostril and into the tissue. Curious, I observed it. There it was: the Snot Mother — a deep, rich, caramel-colored blob, thicker and darker by far than any of my other excretions had been until that point. She was not beautiful, or remarkable, but someone I knew that she was the source of my congestion.
That very day — that very hour — my congestion cleared. My ears ceased aching, and the pain in my throat faded away into nothingness. I had found, and defeated, the progenitor of my illness. The Snot Mother was gone, tossed away, and I journeyed back into health.