Sunday 17 December 2017

Louis Armstrong on handkerchief


Day 2, still suffering from a cold; I fucking hate it when I am sick for more than one day. The sinus has let go, so I'm no longer blinking in bizarre colours with half my face dense and thick, but now the storm-drain phase has commenced: the eyes, nose and throat dripping (I'm not taking much of anything in the sense of medication, except for the acid reflux, because waking up every morning with angina having your acid boiled over is not what I signed up for.)
That said, waking up ... Can't sleep at all. Sleepy, for sure. But can't sleep. Can't focus on much of anything either. Tried writing sexy short story to pass time, as befitting midnight oil. Alas. Bored and tired. General brought me Marlenka cake, an Armenian honey pastry. If that won't bring me back to life, nothing can.

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