Thursday, March 12, 2009

Twenty fucking five to one, me gambling days are done

Day three. Still sick, but, as I type this, I feel as though I'm getting better, but given the rapid and sometimes dramatic fluctuation of symptoms I've experienced today, I'm pretty sure I'm not out of the water yet.

I slept well, but oddly, last night. I woke up almost every hour, positioned on my side and bundled up in blankets. Then I would switch sides and fall back to sleep immediately. And repeat. All night. I felt as if I was being baked in the oven, with all the flipping around. All in all, though, it was a comfortable night of sleeping. I needed it.

At work, my nose leaked. And leaked and leaked and leaked. I lost my voice for a while, coughed and hacked and everything else in accordance with being sick. I felt gross all day, a soiled, dripping, wretch in the company of the civilized and well-groomed. I couldn't wait for the day to end.

Oh, and I pissed a whole lot. I drank as much water as I could and, consequently, made many the trip to the facilities.

Watched some Celtics last night, their depleted lineup in full effect. I enjoyed seeing the likes of Gabe Pruitt and Bill Walker getting some playing time. And because Rondo's out, Starbury got more playing time, which I liked. I was probably one of the few fans in favor of the acquisition.

Lacking energy, must end this.

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