Friday morning I woke up, felt that my throat had become the victim of vicious, acid clot-beings, turned off my alarm and slept until 13.30. By 16.30 I realized I had to eat something and went to dinner, despite the headache. By the time I had eaten, I felt ready to faint on the floor. After having turned down a glass of gold (whiskey, which I gravely regretted I didn't accept afterwards, we'll get to that) I went to my room and thought that I'd feel better if I distracted myself. Twenty minutes later I was shaking so bad I couldn't use the computer anymore. I went to bed, but, mark my idiocy, I took off my pants. Which meant I spent the next hour and a half in heavy - heavy - fever, feeling as if my legs would freeze and fall off any moment, yet was half-unconscious and unable to move thus could not get the pants back. That was when I began regretting the whole alcohol turndown.
Five hours later, I was at least feeling alive enough to be bored with lying there. Not like there was anything else I could do, I was still fevery and dizzy, but I always feel bored when I'm ill. And I was regretting not going home, like mom and several other people told me to, and I was missing my Wow account, and whining together a whole novel of why life sucked and why I would end up incapacitated for my whole life because of my fucking stunt with the pants.
I still have a fever, and I'm not typing as fast as I normally would, because motor skills seem to have dropped 5 points, but at least I can move around. My right leg still feels strange, though, which is creepy. And also why I write this. Because if my leg falls off in six months, I want to remember why.
Which leads me to this glorious conclusion:
Fuck this, I'm going home.
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