Wednesday of last week, I started feeling off. Just that faint signal the body sends that trouble is on the way.

On Thursday, I reluctantly acknowledged that the swollen glands on my neck could mean I was coming down with one of approximately 57 mutations of cold, flu, RSV, COVID-19 and who knows what other gross stuff going around Bend.

First, you need to acknowledge you have a problem — usually.

According to “The 12 Steps of Winter Illness,” a list of the typical steps to catching, keeping and releasing colds into the wild that I just came up with, acceptance is way down at No. 6, and you can’t argue with the 12 steps!

Is this list official? Has it been peer reviewed? Does it stand up to the rigors of scientific scrutiny?

No. But hey, what part of you can’t argue did you not understand? We live in an exciting time in which fact is fiction and TV reality, as the U2 lyric from 40 years ago went. And as Spandau Ballet and I always say, I know this much is true: Give or take a few steps, more than a few of these steps apply to everyone who’s ever caught a seasonal bug.

The 12 steps of winter illness

1. First, you measure the risks of social engagement. “Risky” is defined as anything involving other humans.

2. After a calculated risk assessment, you do the risky thing anyway. It would be RUDE to cancel.

3. Something feels off. Perhaps a sip of water will do the trick. Remind self that if you were any good at measuring risks, you’d never get sick, but hey, you have to go outside once in a while. Yep, those are some swollen glands.

4. Denial. “I cannot be getting sick. No. No!”

5. “Paging Dr. Medicine Cabinet.” Zinc, Vitamin D, Emergen-C, Flintstones Vitamins, whatever will dispatch the evil bug.

6. Acceptance. This bug’s not getting dispatched without a fight. You’ve been down this road before. You will vanquish the evil bug.

7. Think, dammit! Who got you sick? Was it that waitress who walked by your table sniffling a few times? In fact, your spouse didn’t even hear the sniffles, which means it could be a new kind of bug, one that for all anyone knows could be transmissible via soundwaves entering your ears? Eww! Siri, do they make masks for ears?

8. Think about who you may have unwittingly exposed. More importantly, prep your alibis for dodging their accusations.

9. Finally, as a last resort, rest.

10. Start to feel better.

11. Head back into the world. “Heh, no, no. I’m not sick. It’s just a stubborn cough, really. I mean, I think. Hmm? Am I still contagious? Ha! That’s impossible, but then so was getting sick in the first place, yet here we are.”

12. Practice vigilance to avoid another illness. And by “vigilance,” I mean vigilante justice meets martial law, including among your friends. Especially with your friends. “Wait. David is coming over? I thought he was sick! People are SO rude.”

‘What ails you, buster?’

When I was a young troublemaker, my mom would often say, “What ails you, buster?” Who buster was, I had no idea. It probably came from strike busting, Buster Keaton films or other things they had in her Dark Age youth.

Fortunately, whatever ailed me last week was a false alarm. But I can tell you that the only good thing about the times when it’s not a false alarm are steps numbers 7 and 8. You get to play sleuth in No. 7, and try to think like a criminal mastermind in No. 8, a mentally enriching task that may even help you solve No. 7.

And No. 12 is just best practice in an indifferent, even hostile world. Could it be seen as retroactively and hypocritically practicing behavior you wish you’d had the consideration to practice in the first place? Of course! Is it hostile behavior? I don’t think it is. Hey, at least it’s not indifferent behavior.

Other columns by David Jasper

I’m not totally crazy — there ARE a lot of white cars on our roads

John and Paul were OK, but have you heard George?

Why kill a spider when you can set it free?

Though I never figured out what had me feeling down last week, I did take some time to think about where I’d been, who may have infected me, and who I may have infected. Conclusions were few. I need to have at least one, preferably two guilty parties in mind before I can label myself a culprit.

Best of all, after I realized I’d just needed a little rest and my glands retreated to their normal neck fold hiding places, any guilt I’d been feeling vanished like so many germs in a palm full of hand sanitizer.

Depending on your level of neuroticism, more or fewer steps may apply. I don’t know where I land on the neuroticism scale, but I’m not worried about it.

So wash your hands, sneeze upwind, cough into your elbow or that of a good friend and be sure to avoid rude people.

Failing that: Happy sleuthing!