The Hacking Plague
I'm sick with some horrible throat thing. I don't have time to be sick. I'm drinking echinacea-licorice tea to cure it because I am a sucker. But I'm hedging my bets and taking some generic NyQuil as well.
It might be all the noir I've been watching lately for my film course, but certain recent moments of my life have felt a little surreal. There's been some Faulkner-esque doubling and looping going on in reality, which is then repeated and magnified in the content of my dreams. I also keep getting surprised by people who go out of their way to be nice and helpful to me. Because apparently I find kindness to be baffling and suspicious. My goodness, I am a wreck of a human being.
Oh, and I've decided that writing a critical history of Philip K. Dick would make a pretty cool thesis.
I should really just be put out of my misery.
And now, NyQuil.
It might be all the noir I've been watching lately for my film course, but certain recent moments of my life have felt a little surreal. There's been some Faulkner-esque doubling and looping going on in reality, which is then repeated and magnified in the content of my dreams. I also keep getting surprised by people who go out of their way to be nice and helpful to me. Because apparently I find kindness to be baffling and suspicious. My goodness, I am a wreck of a human being.
Oh, and I've decided that writing a critical history of Philip K. Dick would make a pretty cool thesis.
I should really just be put out of my misery.
And now, NyQuil.