The thrill of a head cold

There is a stage in every sickness where, though the basics of the malady remain, the spirits lift and one is not quite so bothered by the whole thing anymore. After having a whole weekend to enjoy the flu and its mucousy aftermath I thought that at least by now (now being a sunny and breezy Tuesday in March where thoughts of hidden winter are far from the minds of students who have insisted on wearing flip flops since the middle of Feburary) my body would have recovered enough that simply staying awake wouldn't be a challenge to my perception.
Instead, I find I'm waiting for the while rabbit. Not the one that Neo saw, mere paint gracing the outer layers of the human container. (We won't get into the rabbit he followed through the looking glass.) But the white rabbit that is constantly in the corner of my eye; only often ignored in lieu of more pressing realities such as oncoming traffic, microwave lunches and reality television.
Today wants to press in beyond the dizziness of blocked eustacean tubes; inside is that restless panic reminding me to get things done or pay the consequences. But then there's that rabbit, pushing out, making my peripheral vision wrap around my head and convincing me that anything I'm not currently touching is less than substantial. And all this is without the aid of over-the-counter descriptives.

I feel that if I relaxed just enough I might find something elusive.

Then again, I might just fall asleep.