February 1

I woke up this morning at 2am, far earlier than I would have liked, coughing and with my throat burning. Clearly, I wasn’t healthy just yet, and that realization was at once depressing, frustrating and angering: I had gone to bed convinced that I was “getting better,” and that I’d wake up this morning at a sensible hour, feeling healthier and back to normal or at least almost back to normal. Instead, I woke up and thought, no, wait, I was supposed to sleep in today and not feel like this, what the fuck. There’s a stage of sickness where it’s not enough to distract, but enough to irritate, and it feels like that’s where I’ve been for days, now. To me, my medication! To me, my health. We can but hope.

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