fucking whooping cough, throwing up heaps of blood and some sort of plasmic goo has kept me up all night, drenched in sweat and some horrid vile stink of sickness. awful.
i watched dvds and drink water and seeing as though there's absolutely no food in my house am reduced to eating molasses and
malanuka honey for a variation. i'm told the honey is good for my throat and it does ease the suffering. every time i stand up and run to the bathroom the room becomes a ship caught in a hurricane, the whole environment start swaying and the floor takes on a motion that makes me bump into the walls. my head gets so dizzy i feel like im about to pass out.
i attempt to walk the dog but can't make it down the steps, so i return to my book and stare at the pages as the print starts to blur, eventually i focus on the pages and begin to read.
i manage to take my pills on time, they have a banana taste but research indicates that there is no medication for whooping cough but time. nico sends me updates on the symptoms and it feels good to have someone care for me. jesus, i'm going soft in my old age.
i open all the windows and let the wind sweep through the house, swirls of currents collide, paper throws itself up in the air, outside birds sing and the sun streams over the wet grass and rooftops. i consider smoking a joint, after all what the fuck am i supposed to do but i'm outta papers and immersed in my john burdett book.
he's describing women who like jail, says 'it's a phycological need for incarceration.'
i concur, it's the ultimate place where you don't have to take any responsibility. but the strange thing is people can be outside jail, living a normal life and still be in a jail. it's all a matter of perspective.
more coughing, spluttering, dribbling and drooling. fuck it, i drive (very disturbing drive as the road feels like water) to the shop and pick up some skins, return to mission control and smoke a spliff, letting the familiar blanket of anaesthesia null the strange feeling off helplessness.