| Diary of a Neurotic | ||||||
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November 29, 2004 The room smells of sickness….the hours seem longer when you’re sick, bed ridden and sleep deprived. I try walking around but my legs are chained by invisible lead blocks. In bed I sit-up, stretch, shift, toss, turn, trying to find the zone where sleep will work its magic. I can’t breathe the nostrils take turns going on strike…one is out of order and the other leaks constantly. I hate the constant foul taste in my mouth…everything I eat is devoid of any flavor, texture or smell. The ears have blocked the exit and my voice seems to be bouncing around in my heavy feverish head. Everything hurts. Misery loves company and I wish the bed wasn’t so empty. I wish there was something to hold and complain to. I wish someone would sing and read to me. Someone needs to invent a cure for a common cold and make the medicines taste better. (8:44 PM) ~`~
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