Chapter LXXVII: Chicken of Doom

I'm writing this in case I die in my sleep tonight... I'd forgotten how wretchedly disgusting being sick is. Last night, I vomitted three times, and this morning, I had wierd hallucinations while I lay sweating in bed under five blankets. I saw red buckets being filled with sand, and and these were somehow related to the Supreme Court's decision in U.S. v. Morrison. The phrase "duckies in a row" came up a lot too.

It definitely wasn't the same as dreaming, because I was still painfully aware while it was happening. Aware of the headache throbbing right behind the bridge of my nose, the roiling in my stomach, and the fact that I was shivering feverishly like a Substance D junkie suffering withdrawal.

D is for darkness and despair.

No, I don't do drugs. The only thing I can think of is the rotisserie chicken from Albertson's that I ate half of yesterday. I knew there was something suspicious about how it's glistened under the heatlamp. I wasn't even going to buy it at first, but my shopping buddy--who thinks I don't eat enough--coerced me into it.

Thanks a lot, Nicole. Shitkabobs. I just remembered that you took home the other half of the chicken... I should call you about that.

[Update] Full recovery, etc.