9:12 p.m. - 2001-04-30
the flu
My hands have swollen to a completely disproportionate size. I can't grasp the spiderweb, I can't stop it from attacking me. My ceiling spins, it is the twilight zone. I never watched that show and i will have never watched that show by the time I'm finished with this entry. Is this diary purple? My fingernails have taken on a bluish tinge and I can't make sense of my friends. The nurse didn't believe me when i wanted to go home because I didn't feel good. But I have a car and she's slow and if this was a dreamlike state, I'm still in it. Packing myself in ice is the next step. My fever is 102.3. I must feel like it's four in the morning because someone else feels like it's four in the morning and can't sleep, but I feel like it's four in the morning and can't sleep either because my muscles lifted me and rose the ceiling, which spins. My warm sleeping bag is in the cellar. I just thought of British terminology because I had a flashback to two nights ago. Refer to 'loss' and then reverse it, as I didn't lose, exactly, just a plan. Which isn't him, it's a plan.

I have to go to sleep before my throat constricts, swallowing the last drops of chocolate pudding.

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