More Sickness

Hence the absence from work. It feels like the long week­end burned me out, and I need anoth­er one. Thank god it’s already Wednesday.

Really, it’s prob­a­bly just a mild stom­ach bug, caus­ing my body to reject every­thing but very dry, thin­ly sliced toast that comes in packs of eight, named after the stage name of Australian opera singer Helen Porter Mitchell. I sus­pect that I’ll also be able to con­sume col­la­gen processed from pork skin, cat­tle bones, and cat­tle hide, but I’m still wait­ing for it to set in the freez­er.

I feel so help­less when I’m like this. I gen­er­al­ly don’t wor­ry about much, but health is the only thing that I can’t look at cere­bral­ly. I’m not even com­fort­able writ­ing this. It just keeps mak­ing me think of how bad I feel. Too nau­se­at­ed to fall asleep. Too tired to do any­thing else.

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