Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Barely alive and stricken with extreme melodrama.

Didn't even wash my hair today, the earrings have been abandoned on the bedside table where Lochlan left them after he took them off me. I've got the white hand of Saruman on my face today, a tiny deaf Uruk-hai and I growl at everyone who comes near (says Ben, who makes me laugh and then his face falls when I start coughing again).

Blame Jake as he came to me in my dreams, last night, taking my temperature, his huge hand on my forehead for a rest and then asked me why I hadn't read the letters yet, that he's glad Sam rescued them from the fire, that he's happy the words he meant for me to see will be seen after all.

But will they? I don't know if they will and it will take more than a delirious fever dream to get me to read them. My curiosity has been stifled like everything else right now as I focus on getting better. I think it's pneumonia. So does the young Russian doctor but I waved him away when he suggested chest x-rays. Fool me twice, those don't resolve a thing. Eventually I'll get better. I discovered Dayquil is kind of like amphetamines in that you feel so awfully bad but you don't care and you go get everything done that needs to be done anyway.

I did it and then crashed and found out Dayquil has a stupid four-hour effective period and declined to take any more. The rebound headaches are crowding in on top of everything and I've resorted to hiding behind PJ for the duration. I've cried twice today just randomly. Wait, no, once was when PJ said I smelled bad. I don't. Well, maybe I do. I don't care.

Lochlan gave up on trying to get me to stay in bed and yet that's the only place I want to be. I'm just so sick of the four walls of every room and no amount of visiting sympathizers has changed that, be they ghosts or real live men.