Every time I think I’ve whittled my obligations down to ensure I’ll have time to exercise daily, every time I get the motivation up to actually diet, every time I rid the house of all fattening foods and temptations, something comes up to screw with my efforts.

A couple of months ago it was family health problems that meant I was pulling double-parenting duty, a situation which left me with little time and even less interest in exercising. Then it was a busted knee.

Now? It’s a cold. Or the flu. Or maybe it’s the plague. Whatever the hell it is, it’s got me laboring for breath like a mesothelioma patient while my temperature roller coasters from barely 97 to well over 102. Repeatedly. All freaking day long.

And, of course, I can’t remember whether I’m supposed to starve a cold or feed a fever — just as my body apparently can’t decide which it has. Which is fine, since I don’t have the slightest interest in food, anyway. All that hand-to-mouth action wears me out.

So, basically, I’ve been living on Nyquil all weekend long with the occasional supplement of hot tea, hot water with lemon and hot toddys when the Nyquil alone isn’t enough to knock me out. (Yes, that does happen.)

One would at least think all of this feverish sweating, followed by all of the teeth-rattling shaking when the chills set in, would be good for burning calories.

But have I lost weight? Oh, no. No, I have not.