I thought on Friday evening when I realized I hadn’t been dizzy all day and my vertigo was gone that I’d done my sickness duty for the year and I was free and clear. Alas, it was not to be for now I have a cold. It is an insignificant cold as far as they go, sniffles, runny nose and sneezing. Mostly just annoying.

Particularly annoying is that in spite of the congestion in my head, my sense of smell has become intensified when something floral or perfume-y wafts my way. When I am completely well these scents irritate my sniffer, but this cold is multiplying them by ten. My nose gets itchy like I’m going to sneeze but it never gets beyond the itchy. However, my left eye, and only my left, starts to water, not just a little moist around the lashes, no nothing so subtle as that. My left eye becomes a veritable Niagra.

I’m on the train to work this morning, deep into reading Emerson’s and Carlyle’s letters. And just as I read Emerson saying

I ask constantly of all men whether life may not be poetic as well as stupid?

a woman gets on the train and passes by where I am sitting. She is wearing strong floral perfume. My nose starts to itch, my sniffles become quite pronounced, and the tears start rolling down my cheek from my left eye. I hastily wiped the first few away hoping that would be it. Nope, they kept going. And they went for what seemed like an eternity. Anyone who looked at me probably assumed I was crying over something I was reading. And the more I tried to be nonchalant about it the worse the tears streaming from my eye seemed. I caught one woman staring at me.

If I were a person great at performance and melodrama I would have turned it into a great show. Since no one could see what I was reading because it was on my Kindle I could have played to a full train with great heaving sighs and sobs. I am not of that nature, unfortunately, so instead I was embarrassed and turtled into to my jacket attempting to be inconspicuous.

By the time I got to work I’m sure I looked a complete wreck with a bright red nose and a red puffy left eye. Thankfully, classes are not in session this week for fall break and the students are few and far between.

In answer to Emerson’s question, yes, a life can be both poetic and stupid with the stupidest parts always taking place in public and the poetic parts in quiet private moments where few or none will see so that the stupid appears most prominent and only by the kindness and sympathy of friends do we manage to avoid being branded complete fools.