Judging by the ache in my neck, my head is now too heavy to be suspended (suspended? I don't think that this is the right word. I can't really think of the right word right now. Please pretend that I am using the correct word)on top of it anymore. I hate to be a whiner, but going into the third day of The Disease That Will Surely Kill Me, I am fairly certain that my end must be near.
I have a giant black bruise on my hand that I vaguely remember getting, but am not sure how or what I did to get it. My grandmother used to bruise like that. Am I bleeding internally? It hurts pretty bad, I never knew that internal bleeding could hurt like that.
I tell people that I am only 36, but in reality I am feeling much closer to 93 right now what with the hot flashes, sweating, and freezing intervals that have preoccupied much of this week. Will the pharmacy even believe that that is my Driver's License picture when I go to buy meth ingredients in an attempt to feel human again? Why do meth addicts have to ruin my life? Where is my Driver's License? Screw it, I am gonna take a nap.
I am certain that someone has been slipping finely ground glass into my icy cold drinks because I am certain that I can feel the pieces grinding together, embedded in my throat, every time I try to swallow.
The nostril on the left has completely stopped functioning, the one on the right refuses to stop dripping. Isn't that signs of a stroke? I could ask Web MD, but my eyes itch too much and my head aches too much to try to sort it all out.
Also, a cat seems to have taken up residence under my porch. Yes. Another one. I named him Connie before I knew he was a he. Now, we are stuck with a boy cat named Connie. If cats didn't look so feminine they might get better names. This cat looks every bit the part of a Consuela - Connie for short.
Rationality is out the window at this point.
6 chickens, two cats - what's next?