head cold in prose.

the brain fog is settling in nicely. i do not know what i see, or what i hear, or what i think. the steady run of fluid covers my throat and my sleeve. the violent coughs grate the walls as they bring up remnants of the downward flow. other eruptions spew forth from cavities nasal and beyond, bringing forth more bodily detritus to cover whatever is in front of me; my keyboard, my monitor, my hands, etc., will all need significant attention when this is over.

a slow ache resonates throughout my flesh. its much larger and stronger sibling pounds through my skull as if with god-forged hammers. i hold my hands to keep the lid squarely on the brainpan, as each mighty swing of the hammer is compounded with the sharp thrusts of sneezing spears and hacking cough-swords.

words escape me, basic motor function is all the barely remains. the walls form my balance, the floor a vague and disturbing threat that eats at whatever serenity i might try for. sleep deprivation, a long and consistent friend has deserted me and gone over to the enemy. its guidance helps clear the fog of war for my adversary, and add to mine. the billowing clouds of mind fog chase the lazy drifting haze of almost-consciousness from my eyes, leaving me to stare blankly into empty walls of confusion and daze.

i venture once more into the fray, charging forward with command orders to sleep, to medicate, to pass through the lost passages of coherent thought.

once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.