(no subject)

My holiday has been a blur of illness, video games, and movies. These are the only things I see from the bottom of my well. In the beginning of the film Bubba Hotep a man coughs himself to death much in the same way that I have been doing the past several days. No fever, no excessive fatigue, but a sore throat that feels not unlike I have swallowed a porcupine whole. It's worse at night. The illness creeps up on me as the sun goes down, like an ancient mummy that shambles into a nursing home to suck the souls of the barely living. I tried singing an Elvis song in the shower, but my once tenor voice is reduced to the bass croak of a frog living in a well, who looks up and only sees a tiny round hole for the sky. Rather like the frogs in another film, Pavilion of Women. Frogs. Porcupines. So many animals on my mind. NyQuil's combination of psuedoephedrine and alcohol gives me weird dreams in which I cannot figure out how to make these orphaned animals happy. I'm no Zoo Tycoon. Not when I continue to try to quench the thirst of my parched giraffes by installing a soda vending machine inside their exhibit. But I'm climbing out of my well, just in time for the holiday to end. Strange that I will have greater freedom when the holiday ends, just as the characters in that Chinese movie did after the Communists came to power. Gotta go, my giant squid is very sick.