I woke up this morning dead.
Okay, not dead. But not that alive, either. I am sick, sick, sick. I knew it was going to happen. It’s like that moment when your bike skids out of control and for a split second you think, “Oh, shit,” and then it’s all pavement and scars. Except it is nothing like that. I woke up a bunch of times in the night and every time it was like some awful Sickness Mathematician Fairy had flown over my head and multiplied the badness.
Maybe if I had been sleeping under a magical night sky, that wouldn’t have happened. Either way, I feel like someone chopped off my head, puffed it up with helium and childrens’ tears, reattached it, kicked me down the world’s longest flight of stairs, injected lead into my veins, and then threw coconuts at me for an hour. IT’S NOT A GOOD FEELING.
Long story short, I am going to sleep all goddamn day and not feel bad about it.