zird is the word (lizardek) wrote,
zird is the word

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When your cheekbones feel as though they are cutting through your skin from the inside out, hot and shiny and sharp, you know you're sick.

When there seems to be a film of rainbow-smeared oil across your eyes that makes everything you look at swirl and blur, you know you're sick.

When the sound of other people's voices becomes faint and muggy, and comprehension takes a dive, leaving you sitting and staring, you know you're sick.

I went to bed at 7 o'clock yesterday evening after a small bowl of chicken soup for dinner. My feet were cold but my head was hot. Today I've had to stop every few seconds to blow my nose even though there isn't anything there except a tickling drip. My tongue feels coated and swollen. My lips are chapped. The common cold certainly lends itself to glamour and self-esteem.

I wasn't going to write in my journal today either, because I was feeling pretty sorry for myself (having to work despite obvious deathbed-looming illness) and apathetic, and also because being sick was giving me an excuse not to, and hey, no one would miss me, right? I thought to myself, "how many days could I go without LJ?"

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