Being Ill

The world started to spin or i started to notice that it always had been spinning. I woke up in a pool of my own sweat, my body on fire and on ice at once. It could only mean one thing...i was sick. I spent the rest of the night trying to get the motivation to vomit. The motivation never came and by the morning there was nothing left in my stomach so i spent twenty delightful minutes dry retching into the white porcelin. I believe the delerium had set in by then, becuase i spent at least ten of those minutes intermitently cleaning the stupid toilet. You never really notice how dirty they are until you are on your hands and knees in front of it.

I spent the next four whole days in bed. I had a fever which seared my eyeballs everytime i blinked. I was genuinely suprised not to hear the sizzle of my tears violently evaporating as my skin touched them. Exhaling through my nose, when i could, felt like two tiny hairdryers had been shoved somewhere up into my nasal cavity, switched on and left to melt themselves to destruction. After day two i worked out what i had to do when the wave of fever crashed in. Sit up flannel, containing ice on head, knees uncovered (essential) and eating ice as fast as i could.

I felt drunk on the delerium. But not drunk in an at-the-pub with your friends sort of way. More like drunk at your gran's house. I didn't want to feel drunk. I didn't want to be fixated on the most rediculous things for hours on end. For example how many people groups in the world end in "-ese". e.g. Chinese. The answer is ten by the way. Good luck. Or the number fifteen thousand. I couldn't get rid of that one for a day and a half.

I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by now if it wasn't for Lucia.

I rang NHS 24. This is called a waste of time. Though we did have a bit of a laugh when the woman told me to put my chin on my chest. I was trying to do it with my mouth closed. Which doesn't work at all for me. I think i must have a small chin.