Between a stomach bug that wouldn't die and the possible flu two weeks later, 2013 has not been my lucky number.

Many others are sharing the same misfortune.

If some weight-loss company discovers a way to bottle and market these ailments, the sales pitch might go something like this: “Would you like to drop 10 pounds in just three amazing days?”

Through the fog of sickness, I soldiered on at times by writing editorials from home, surrounded by boxes of tissues and flu drugs.

Considering that patients are not supposed to operate heavy machinery while under the influence of certain medications, I can only hope no one was killed or injured by my opinions.

Looking back, I am not even sure what I wrote or whether our other editors had the good sense not to publish it. My mind was filled with incoherent contradictions.

Although I don’t recall whether the idea made it to print, I distinctly remember having the thought that we should support our troops and arm ourselves against them. I suppose this contradiction would require tying a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree and storing a 100-shot AR15 semi-automatic in the coat closet.

“Welcome home, soldier!” I yell, while heroically defending the Second Amendment.

Must have been the fever talking.

As antibiotics and disease fought for possession of my soul, I experienced a strong patriotic urge to wave the American flag and sign a petition to secede from the Union.

“Divided we stand, united we fall,” I thought in a moment of inspiration. “I can no longer tolerate a nation in which my candidate loses an election, so I will form my own country. I will call it Great Scottany.”

Then, as TV reporters discussed the presidential inauguration, I fell to the floor, kicking and screaming in a temper tantrum.

Must have been the drugs talking.

Late one sleepless night, I began thinking about the growing class of poor who populate the United States. I wondered what would Jesus do. The answer was obvious.

He would cut taxes on the wealthy, I realized, and let some of the proceeds trickle down like bread crumbs from the rich man’s table. It was just like the parable.

About that time, my throat became parched and I started begging for a drink of water.

Must have been the dehydration talking.

After recovering, I was embarrassed by all these contradictions, but then I looked around and found comfort in numbers. It seems a lot of other folks are suffering the same delusions.

Executive Editor Scott Morris can be reached at 256-740-5721 or scott.morris@TimesDaily.com.