“Thorin looked and walked as if his kingdom was already regained and Smaug chopped up into little pieces. Then, as he said, the dwarves’ good feeling towards the little hobbit grew stronger every day. There were no more groans or grumbles. They drank to his health, and they patted him on the back, and they made a great fuss of him; which was just as well, for he was not feeling particularly cheerful. He had not forgotten the look of the Mountain, nor the thought of the dragon, and he had beside a shocking cold. For three days he sneezed and coughed, and he could not go out, and even after that his speeches at banquets were limited to “Thag you very buch” (J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit).
Once again, I have a cold. At least that’s my amateur non-medical opinion. I have a scratchy throat, stuffed nose, and a fluffy head. Oh, for the joys of being able to sleep in tomorrow.
I know most guys turn into babies when they have colds. At least that’s what the prevalent opinion is all over social media. I for one am not going to dispute that. I will crawl into my bed in the fetal position and possibly suck my thumb.
I am thankful that I got my flu shot this year. Colds are bad but the flu is worse. I should know.
Still, I am grateful for another day to be alive, even if I don’t feel so alive at the moment. When I ask a friend of mine how he’s doing, he almost always responds with “I’m living the dream.”
That’s me. I can say I’m living the dream. I’m living God’s dream for me and I eagerly await to see how that dream will unfold, but I know it will be good. It will be better than my wildest dreams and beyond my imagination.
Maybe I’ll dream about that instead of having the usual cold-inspired weird dreams that I normally have when I’m under the weather.