Throat.

I think it's about to hit me. Yeah, I can feel it coming. Two spoonful shots of bitter sleep, washed down with tap water and a yelp of anti-jubilance. This convection is still upon my poor throat, swollen and tapped out; I cannot do a thing about it, however. Being sick is a mighty bitch. One who makes with your patience and steals all your laughter (When I laugh I seem to fall into a cycle of violent coughing).

Okay, well, I had intended to jot down some thoughts about the state of having nothing to do when it seems as though the possibilities are endless--but I think that the store brand stuff has just met my arteries. Can't go on. Must end pathetically. What an awesome weekend. See you sometime soon.