Will I ever talk again?

Drat.
A cold.
I had been doing so well for so long.
A cold carries psycho baggage for me for a couple of reasons.
Back when I was in radio it meant going to work and sounding like crap.
That always created a sense of anxiety.
Perhaps an irrational sense of anxiety. When I was a little boy, I picked up a book on legendary sports broadcaster Red Barber. Among his hundreds of stories was the tale of broadcasting one time with a cold.
During the middle of his broadcast, his voice cracked.
Then -- nothing, just squeaking air.
He went to a nationally recognized throat physician who said he might never talk again due to the strain of broadcasting with a cold.
For 90 days, he was instructed, he must not try to utter a word.
Finally, slowly, his speech returned.
I thought of that story every time I felt an itch in my throat.

More recently, the first touch of an illness sparks terror of a disturbance in the force.
This is based on the theory that one's physical health is a portal to one's inner health.

''Oh my god, I have a cold -- my chakras must be out of alignment!"
I need to relax -- no, I am stressed, no relaxed, oh my god, I must be more stressed than I realized. Oh my god, I must be unaware…..oh no my internal monitors are askew ...arggghhhghhh.''

So here I am, sipping CALM tea from TAZO and trying to center.
Trying to imagine my white blood cells playing a Ms. Pac man game with viral bad guys.
Do do do
Doo do doo
Doodle le doodle le do.