If there’s anything more annoying than being sick, it’s being sick again—and this time, I know exactly who to blame: me and Hector, playing an unintentional game of “pass the cold.” One of us starts to feel better just in time for the other to fall apart, and then the whole cycle resets like some cruel seasonal boomerang.
I should’ve known something was up when I started feeling that familiar scratch in my throat yesterday. I tried to convince myself it was allergies, dry air, anything but the same cold making its grand return. But by last night, it became obvious: round two had arrived.
Now the stuffy nose and plugged ears are back for an encore performance, and the exhaustion is hitting harder because, honestly, who has the energy to get sick twice in the same month? At this point, our apartment feels less like a home and more like a germ-sharing cooperative. We love each other, but apparently our colds do too.
I keep telling myself it’s temporary, just another wave to ride out. But it’s frustrating—feeling like you’re finally turning a corner only to get shoved back down the hill. Still, here I am: wrapped in blankets, sipping warm tea, trying to stay patient while my body sorts itself out again.
Here’s hoping this is the last lap and that both of us can finally break the cycle. Because honestly? I’m ready for a week—just one week—where neither of us is coughing, sniffling, or passing anything except the remote.
