16* So they told me you have a secret.

So, there's no point in denying it: I'm sick as a dog.

I figured this out last night, and was kicked hard by it this morning, when I got up and could positively not stop sneezing. Of course, we stocked up on cold medicine last week, thanks to my brothers' adventures in illness, but our supplies were depleted for obvious reasons. So I had to go out to the pharmacy at 8:00 this morning - since I was already up, after a mostly sleepless night (because of the sickness, not because of what kept me up last week,) rolled out of bed, popped some pills, downed some generic DayQuill, went to the pharmacy, bought some ColdFX (which is mostly just Ginseng,) got a tea (which really helped,) and headed back out. In fact, feeling better, I went back over to Ferguson's, because I knew that if I didn't, I'd be missing my one good chance to actually do something today, even sick.

This is indicative of the difference between the three of us and how we handle sickness equally. Brandon does the rational, if inconvenient thing, and goes into sensory-deprivation mode in his room. Eric veges on the couch and regresses to near-infancy. I power through, not because I am invincible, but because I view sickness as an inconvenience to be ignored. I hate being sick. Who doesn't, right? But it bothers me, because I'm the type of guy who likes things his certain way. It's a nast character trait to have, but I do, and I'm not willing to change my ways for sickness. Thus, I've been on the computer for most of today.

So now they're in talks to end the strikes. They're dragging on and I can't get any information. I don't even know if I'll go tomorrow because of how ill I am, if school does come back. Screw Mitrovica. I'm friggin' sick. (and I had to think really hard to remember what teacher I'd have tomorrow morning.)

I'm thinking back to the last thing Anisah said to me before leaving on Saturday, and that was that we didn't get to talk enough. That was true, and I think it might have helped if I hadn't been the slightest bit inebriated when she arrived. After all, my desire for conversation, and my aptitude for it, significantly decreases when I get into the drink, even as little as I had. In the future, I should pace this accordingly. then again, I didn't even know she'd be there, so that's splitting hairs. That is, of course, assuming she really wanted to speak to me... (that's really just token paranoia - Anisah, I don't think, has had an insincere moment in her entire life.)

My mind's kind of wandering right now. I can't quite collect my thoughts. I was reading my old Writer's Craft Journal earlier. What a crap. What a book full of crap. Reading it, I felt like I were reading the fragmented, broken-english, half-baked thoughts of a delusional schizophrenic. Maybe that's a bit harsh, but I was never able to really gather my thoughts together properly there, either.

Anyway, my nose is sore from constant wiping, my muscles are sore, my head is sore, my throat is sore, I'm basically just walking soreness. Better cut it for the night.

Keep on rockin'
-Williams