January 30, 2008. My fingers courageously rest atop home row. The minute-by-minute struggle rages and roars. Each press of the keyboard, each battle between the lettered monstrosity and me, serves only to distinguish the fact that my muscles feel like jelly. From time to time I prod my biceps to make certain something firm still resides there. Vick’s VapoRub, only an arm’s reach away, provides the comfort of cavalry to faltering forces in the heat of war. Speaking of war, that word, “war,” explains better than any other the ruckus beneath the layers of my skin.
This I believe, I believe that the human will to survive trumps all other forces. The mighty motivation to continue forward through time and torture allows one to refuse to raise the white flag. As far back as I care to remember, for every winter of my childhood the croup crept up on me. I would spend most mornings before school in the bathroom breathing steam. Spring will forever hold a positive connotation among my connotative associations. The dawning of spring marks the time when the sickness would retreat, only to return upon the falling of the next snow. One might deduce that since the illness occupies the span of only one season that I should stop acting like a baby. I would retort with the sagacity of many by spelling out that a season seems an eternity for one with a virus of a monkey on one’s back. They say that time flies when you are having fun. Thus, the opposite must be true when all fun siphons away like the syrupy goodness drawn out of Maine’s maples. Another old adage: humans take the path of least resistance. If true, then one should certainly wish to end pain as soon as possible. Then why do we endure? The complex human mind recognizes that this too shall pass, that sunnier days lay ahead, and that dark times add a sparkling effect to the lighter times.
Pardon my temporary absence, an involuntary urge to purge shivered to the top of my list of priorities. The tenacity of the human spirit did not randomly pop into my knowing one day. Rather, the intangibility of this ideal gradually seeped into my consciousness. Nowadays, my belief in my underdog character applies to sacrificing sleep one night to gain it the next, my personal philosophy on humanity, and those uncomfortable moments in a stuffy elevator. I may be sick today, but tomorrow is a new day. Like a thundering and terrifying storm, this too shall pass.
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