Sickly silence

I’m going to keep this short because the harsh glow of the screen annoys me. And, by “annoys me,” I mean that I am on the verge of throwing up.

You see, yours truly has been plenty sick all of this week, and the general pressures and trauma and workload I’ve been subjected to have ensured that my issues have spiralled well out of control. I’ve been asleep—passed out, more accurately—for over twenty of the past twenty-four hours, and I still feel near-dead drained. My head is pounding and I know how it feels like to be dumb. (As in mute; not stupid. We’ve had our fair share of daftisms.) My bleeding throat has decided to stop functioning and I can’t communicate with anything more than hoarse, barely-audible whispers. Also, I am getting sick of my diet which as primarily revolved around a plethora of soups and teas… and the occasional cognac.

But hey, at least I don’t get slapped when I huddle up close to attractive women and whisper into their ears as I “talk” to them!