100 Words on Feeling Compromised

I have been in the trenches of my usual summer flu, where my whole system feels compromised, that my chi has been replaced with a thick syrup not unlike that found in canned peaches. My life force that usually courses at electricity speed is now wading in muck. Compromises, like that syrup, are weak solutions, where everyone must lose to chart a half-hearted victory. My body is a dilapidated stadium in which the virus may play its games, but you have to wonder what victories the brainless virus sees in this. Propagation? Survival? Is that the cosmic goal, after all?