shitty bed-ridden days

The sloth has inhabited the precincts of my weakened body. Bloody uninvited guests at festival time. Spoil your plans and force you to chat nonsense with them. It's been 3 days now that fever and cough have gripped me. Like a budding martyr I went out on the 1st evening and have been warming my bed ever since.

Food tastes bland and bitter alternately, the amiable weather has suddenly turned chilly; in fits of activity I roam around my house like a caged animal in his territory. But mostly I sleep with the cough syrup acting like vodka shots (without the high of course). I am scared to go for an X-ray for fear that it'll show specks of tar and resin in my nicotine maligned lungs. And then the doctor in funeral white will pull my mom into a claustrophobic room and declare sombrely, "Inhe dava ki nahin dua ki zaroorat hai."

Fever laying you low is the worst thing possible. Its like a lingering taste of bitter gourd in your palate. ugggggghhh! Can a stupid virus make you lose interest in life? It sounds so silly it must be true.

The only silver lining is that I've been hovering in a semi-conscious state a bit. An in-between state where you cant tell for sure if you're dreaming or awake and your mind is playing fancy tricks. Lot of fun! Not psychedelic cos I havent had bhaang but a dreamy state where your secret wishes are carried out.

I've been reading Vernon God Little (2003's Booker winner) and laughing a lot too.
Its such a relief the Booker judges are not a prudish lot and give leeway for a kind of prose thats straight out of 'south park'. To the book's credit it makes you giggle and think all at once. And improves your lingo :-)