Brrr - Of cold winters and civil war

The city has gotten rather cold lately. Yesterday was Mumbai's coldest day in over half a century, with temperatures hitting 11 degrees Celsius. By Mumbai standards, that's as good as 11 below zero.

December 21st, 2005 - A day that shall forever live in infamy! After begrudgingly rendering faithful service for the last few weeks, my nose has trechearously chosen this fateful day to declare war on the rest of me. In a bold move, it has besieged my sinuses, squeezing my air supply lines to a trickle. The frontline troops in my throat are fighting valiantly, but suffering grievous losses. Major offensives by elite Nasal Mucus Commandos are met with devastating force, but the situation is still unstable, resulting in a sore throat and blocked sinuses. To top it off, my throat is also the only alternative air supply route, since I have been reduced to breathing somewhat ineffectively through my mouth.

In a happy development, regular infusions of warm dihydrogen monoxide have proved effective in halting the progress of the enemy down my throat. My near-infinite supplies of this weapon have caused widespread consternation among the enemy leadership. Reports from the front indicate that the southern generals have pulled their troops back, and are heading north to join their commander at the Siege of the Sinus Cavities, which promises to be the . The battle being waged there is fierce, with neither side giving quarter. I have given orders that enemy troops are to be mercilessly slaughtered in cold blood, unless they swear blood oaths of lifelong fealty to me. Otherwise, within the confines of my body, the Geneva convention is hereby repealed.

While my brave soldiers fight heroically to hold the Forts of the Ostia, even they need time to rest and regroup. Bombing runs by the Otrivin Airborne Nasal Drop Squad are carried out whenever the fighting gets too rough. As Lord High Supreme Commander by Divine Right, the responsibility falls upon me to balance the costs of this form of attack with the lives of my faithful soldiers.

This choice is hard - a lesser man may be unequal to it. And yet, I must make the decision. Millions of lives may be lost in this War of the Respiratory Passages, but their sacrifice will ensure that the organism lives on.

To all those who must die, your sacrifice will not be in vain. This war will be forgotten.

That's right. It will be forgotten. Not remembered. Not sung about for centuries. It will be banished from the Neuronal Archives as useless information, never to be recalled again. That's the whole point of recovering from a minor sickness. You forget about it. It's not worth remembering.

But these are thoughts for happier times. Right now, I must order another air strike against the rapidly advancing forces of the enemy. Victory will be mine! Onward!