by angeliska on October 29, 2003

I am not comprehending exactly how I could have
become so disgustingly ill right before
so many enjoyable past-times have been planned.
I cannot enjoy my halloween candy, or any other
form of pleasant debauchery, for that matter.
I have a day and a half to be restored fully
to my non-sniffling, non-hacking former self.
I am against this latest development entirely.
I would like to submit a formal complaint
to board of directors and also to the
insufferable beasties that are wreaking havoc
on my apparently delicate immune system.
Damn you all, evil turquoise devils!
Fie on all of this sicky business, I say.
I’m holed up with Andrei Rublev,
and a bunch of dirty, Aurolac huffing street kids
from the subway in Bucharest.
And none of them are making me feel any better,
not in the slightest.
Nor are several kinds of lonzenge, many juices,
no less than four different homeopathic medicines,
raw garlic gloves, and an array of vitamins.
I still feel like a pig shat in my head.
Fuckity fuck-fuck.

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