Yesterday morning, 5 am: Oh s***. I'm done for. The viral infection so potent it fells healthy 20-somethings for a week at a time, the epidemic so ubiquitous in our New York offices that it's now referred to simply as the PopSci Plague, the flu that crushes your brain and blows it through your digestive tract has finally come for me. It is my time. I can feel it: A sore throat and vague headache that are the opening salvos of a dispiriting scorched-earth campaign. It's too late to fight.

Or is it?