Historically I feel well, just dandy, but recently I haver noticed a growing inclination to suffer bouts of feeling slightly under the weather, not quite the ticket, perhaps only ninety percent right. More alarmingly all together is my inability to override these vague feelings with explanatory analysis, corrective imagery, even positivity. Vagary is a most disconcerting state, hazy enough to be evident, but too misty to be describable.
The planet has just endured a plague of indisposition, a panoply of symptoms from extremely debilitating to mildly discomforting. The seeds of peculiarity have been sown in our subconscious, to be aggravated, alarmed, at the slightest change from supposed normality. Attention to body temperature had been raised from an occasional check, to habituality, an occasional winding bears the overwhelming threat of chronic lung disfunction.
My previous healthy status is oppressed by recently learned indicators, substantially overriding any natural optimism that time and experience had carefully constructed.