It threatens.

I prepare to fight it, but each time I muster up the energy, a quick sneeze knocks me down and mustering must begin anew.

The first cold of the season. It approaches with careless disregard of the fact that the season has yet to arrive.

If the tips of the leaves haven't begun to crisp into autumn reds and ambers, I should not be turning to the NyQuil.

Not yet.

I know that a combination of elements are starting to affect me, but I can't discern between factor or result. Tossing and turning at night results in pale skin and a floaty head. But the pale skin leads to chilly hands. The chilly hands lead to feeling cold outside. The cold outside leads to sneezing. The sneezes lead to a desire to curl up under blankets. The desire to curl up under blankets leads to tossing and turning at night.

The cycle spins on and on.

I continue to sneeze.