No Better

A squirrel barking persistently, weaving through the mulberry tree, repeatedly tapping on the branches. Making a long distance call? Scampered away down the street. I suspect the squirrel of having been more focused than I am.

All gone weird, I not only can't stand the thought of oranges (my sole breakfast food for decades), but last night I was unable to finish a bottle of beer. The illness (I'm now convinced I've picked up an infection which has settled in my throat) has knocked by taste buds catawampus.

I no longer sleep but have catnaps embedded in hours of discomfort and delirium. The delirium is like unassembled dreams. Deprived of REM sleep, my subconscious attempts a coup against me.

Reading little. Things make little sense to me. I fear that the fever has done away with millions or billions of brain cells.