Walking Death

It just turned 3am. I’ve been drifting between sleep and life for the last 2 hours. I went to bed not feeling incredible, my head wasn’t really working and I had this strange pain in my stomach. Regardless I got to bed at 10:30 then tossed and turned until 12:00 when the midnight news comes on. Then miraculous sleep hits me, and with it comes the nightmares.

I have a dream there’s this party I’m going to, of course I’ve told my parents it’s just a friend’s sleepover. Mum gets home at 4:00, telling me we can leave in half an hour, ticks round to 5:30 and I’m still at home eating pizza (I have no idea why my dream made me eat pizza) then I have this strange dream about being jumped by a couple of young hooligans who steal my cake and say mean things to me.

This takes me up until 2 am. I start burning up, I go run to sit on my porcelain throne and proceed to die. Surprisingly this whole burning up thing only takes a few minutes and I’m pretty chipper afterwards. I realize I probably need some calories in me. I go downstairs and eat all the carbs I’ve ever had in my life. 3 scones with peanut butter and jam. I don’t usually really get sick, the last time I had a fever was about 2 years ago, so the theory right now is this low-carb diet is really messing with me and my brain can’t take the depleted glucose, so today will be my carby day and I’ll try load up on them whilst crying in bed about my loss in productivity.

3:07 am and I’m out. Might see if I can grab a cheeky morning shower.

I’ve spent the rest of the day catatonic in bed, it’s pretty bloody awful being sick, oh well I’ve listened to about 6 hours of Joe Rogan and I’ve tried to figure out how to sleep properly (for some reason whenever I fall asleep I feel like I just become this ridiculous tangle of limbs)

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