better than drinks

too queer to read, but queer enough to write

I had been having a fever, or have been, I'm not sure.

What I am sure is that I felt pretty queer yesterday night.

I didn't feel pain or discomfort, there was no pain, but I was high as a drunk broccoli. And that made everything O.K.

The second morning I woke up, oh, this morning, I felt myself dripping fever sweat. Damp bedsheet, pillowcase, sticky, probably smelly, maybe. I thought of go washing myself and remembered that I had just done it the night before - but the night seemed distant, and I had to think twice about whether it was last night or some nights ago. It was last night. Damn. It really got into my brain.

This afternoon I crawled into my bed trying to sleep through the afternoon, the sheets and covers were all dried up, and it hit me that last night I was in hell what a cradle of a lunatic nest. My quilt consisted of moving whatever, use your imagination, I don't remember, but I had to fetch, then wrap myself up with what I got, and that was my quilt for I guess four five six hours till I managed to level up I guess. Whatever was moving squashing made no sense but a loony took it for granted. The types of the moving whatever got less and less, but all the fetching were done while I lay in my corpse - I noticed this after the second loo trip, that all the fetching were done that way. Then I was able to sleep on my side - when I was doing the first round fetching, I lay on my back and because there was too much work to do I thought I'd just lie there, but it wasn't until after the second loo trip did I realise I wasn't moving - I guess that was what level up meant - to realise I wasn't moving. I wasn't even aware that the fetching all played itself out in my head. It was pure madness. Very surreal. Very rad.

Another reason why it was better than drinks was that I knew my body was fighting a trivial battle and it was to do itself good when it claimed victory and I got this. I didn't have to drink and fuck up my liver to get stuck inside of the liminal space.

Two days of no harmful substances and I start to wonder why does my body choose to go SICK at this point of my life. It f*****g is protesting.

You are such a baby.