The unthinkable has happened, I am really legitimately sick away from home. From developing an asthmatic cough on Thursday, I was sniffing and feeling unusually hot last night. I took medicine. I went to sleep. I just woke up feeling like I had been a bear in utter hibernation, blood pooled in internal organs away from limbs that were now weak and semi-paralysed; every semi-stuffed nose breath forced through with extra violence and exertion.
Last night before I went to sleep I lost my voice. I sneezed, Michelle said bless you, and I said Thanks but it came out as a croak (it seems I am very into animals at the moment).
What I'm thinking of now is minced pork porridge, as my maid used to do it. The laziest shit on earth, it was minced meat dumped into rice plus water. It was tasteless. I'd add tons and tons of soy sauce into it (like I didn't already do that to my other stuff) just to get some damn taste to my shell shocked sick taste buds. In essence it sucked. Still on this vaguely early Autumn day in London (12 degrees out according to BBC), that is all I can think about.
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