Sick

Sick.  Daze. Haze. Fog. Sleep.  I wake up. It's day time. I'm dimly aware I'm supposed to be feeding myself three meals a day.  And drinking plenty of fluids.  What shall I do about that? I remember I have some packets of miso soup mix.  That would be easy to make and would feel good on my sore throat. That's what I'll do.

I fall back asleep.  I dream about miso soup.

Oh, I was supposed to make it, not dream about it.  Oh well, dreaming is close enough.  Easier then getting up.

I wake up again.  I remember there's a world out there. I'm supposed to be doing something.  I'm supposed to be interesting and intelligent.  I'm supposed to earn a living. I'm supposed to earn friends.

I'm a blob. No use to humanity.  Helpless.  I'll lose my job when they find out how useless I am.  Which means no rent no groceries.  No music. No dance.

My skin aches, sore with fever.

I fall back asleep.