I hate this.
God, I hate being sick. I become needy, weepy, whiny and all-round major bitch.
I have all sorts of theories why I am sick, ranging from "my leg is infected inside and its festering beneath the skin" to "I think there was something wrong with the apple I ate earlier - yes, I know it was delicious but maybe there was some sort of virus in it."
I have also pondered on the possibility that I have dengue or maybe I haven't taken a bath yet and I smell like shit, so I am getting sick. This theory was blown to kingdom come after I took a bath, popped a 500 mg paracetamol in my mouth and ended up staring at a thermometer which said, "Yeah, stupid. You're still sick."
I have also theorized that I need some bow-chika-wow-wow from the man who impregnated me twice, but that's too much info for you right, so I'll give you some time to swallow that little vomit you have in your mouth right now.
I am not thinking straight. I am sick, goddamnit. I don't get sick unless Death has decided to check up on me. He did that for the first 21 years of my life, that impotent son of a bitch. That's his MO when it comes to yours truly. And I think he plans to visit me every decade or so.
Oh well. I should stop this and resume whining and crying. 🔫
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