baby steps and instamatic floo

For the first time in I don't even know how long, I managed to write and finish a paper not on the day it was due, not in a panic an hour, half an hour, ten minutes before class, but the night before. And my god, the relief. The relief and the pride and the joy, in my silly three page paper in which I experienced Sherman Alexie and the effect of this and that on the other thing.

It's an okay paper – I love Alexie, despite his tendencies toward didactic preaching, which is also what I admire about him, that passion and anger. It was an interesting question, and I think I had some good thoughts and good things to say and it was an interesting assignment, and except for some final editing I did this morning to make sure it wasn't a rambling mess of incoherent medicine-talk (I am so very disgustingly plague-sick, and so very medicated), it was finished in plenty time. Plenty time! I rule!

Also, I drool. Jesus, I am tired of mouth breathing, and would cheerfully ice pick my own face if it meant I could breathe like a normal person and hear. The world is wrapped up in cotton flannel, and I say "WHAT? WHAT?" like I'm a hundred and seven. What the hell kind of cold clogs up your ears? A cold that sucks.

I think I have a fever, too. Also, my mouth is wet, my throat is dry, and I'm going blind in my right eye. My leg is cut, my eyes are blue - it might be instamatic flu.

I want a nap.