My new york experience has been dwindled down to my sweaty bed sheets and a bucket for puke. I haven't had the flu in years but some one inside my head kept forgetting to ask my doctor for the shot. Falling sick brings out the poetic side in me say my friends that keep texting to see how I'm doing, texting because the energy it takes to talk makes my fever rise.
So what does one do confined to a bed for two weeks, half wishing they would expire and the other half in a dazed dream with flying daisy petals and memories of good times with the last guy who had me at hello.?
I'm drinking liquids. lots of liquids. and listening to the cars go by on the Bruckner expressway imagining that I'm listening to the waves of the Atlantic ocean washing away this years pains and mistakes and waving in strength and hope for a better life to come once I can stand up with out having the world spin in a thousand different directions.
The Flu couldn't have picked a worse time. I was suppose to move this week, I was suppose to run away from my life here in New York and begin a whole new mess of problems and happiness in Philadelphia. But it looks like I may loose that opportunity. And that's ok. (throwing up) cause this feeling I get from the flu is not pleasant it's not fun. Sitting idle in one place for more than a day brings up every possible thought that I would rather block out, have electrocuted out, or even erased from memory. But I have to learn to live with it.
I have to learn to live with me and all that is my life the good the bad the painful and the happy trips to IKEA. So, There is one good aspect of this freakin flu. I'm forced to be with me all day every day and to deal.
Now the couple arguing outside is a different story some man is about to have his head busted in by a broken beer bottle.
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