So... very... worn... out...
I hate it when I get sick.
It's as though I suddenly become completely, utterly useless. A groaning lump of self-pity with a crippling dependency on caffiene and aspirin to function like a normal human.
Even then, I move slower, think slower. All is filtered through a melancholy blur, and it takes a monumental effort to simple get up and walk somewhere.
An example of the affect of illness on my psyche:
I was walking to Art History (the only class I made it to today), and I saw a group of five people roughhousing/playing on the courtyard between Selleck Hall and the Union.
Or rather, I should say two guys and their girlfriends (obviously), and a fifth guy off to the side, laughing, having fun, but it seemed... strained. Forced, even. It was obvious that the poor guy was a fifth wheel, and single, and resenting it.
And I thought, "It's all so very foolish."
I'm going to take a nap now.
It's as though I suddenly become completely, utterly useless. A groaning lump of self-pity with a crippling dependency on caffiene and aspirin to function like a normal human.
Even then, I move slower, think slower. All is filtered through a melancholy blur, and it takes a monumental effort to simple get up and walk somewhere.
An example of the affect of illness on my psyche:
I was walking to Art History (the only class I made it to today), and I saw a group of five people roughhousing/playing on the courtyard between Selleck Hall and the Union.
Or rather, I should say two guys and their girlfriends (obviously), and a fifth guy off to the side, laughing, having fun, but it seemed... strained. Forced, even. It was obvious that the poor guy was a fifth wheel, and single, and resenting it.
And I thought, "It's all so very foolish."
I'm going to take a nap now.