Fresh Hell

Whenever my body decides to revolt on me (usually when I'm on my period), I have a penchant to ask What fresh new hell is this? This is mostly a question that is wildly inaccurate. While oftentimes my body warns me of the pending uprising, I am always shocked by its presence. Whether that be manifested in my lactose intolerance deciding it's had enough of my pretending to be a milk drinker -- I think most lactose intolerance-ees will agree those pills rarely work -- and mandates that I spend the evening by the side of the toilet bemoaning my life choices. That's the tamest scenario I could provide without grossing anyone truly out, but I think you get the idea. I don't take care of my body, my body tells me so in violent manners that a wallop to the head would be welcomed graciously.

So what has me up at 3am (I don't care what the Goddamn time stamp says, it's 3am) running to the word vomit factory that is my blog? It would appear I have contracted something which brings an uncontrollable nose faucet, an elephant on my chest, shivers, mild delirium, and best of all... ACHES. Now if you've never had the pleasure of getting sick, what the fuck is your secret I want it. 

Anyway, I'm not exactly sure how colds are experienced by others, but I usually stay in that awful stage where it's the day before you're about to get sick... the entire time. Meaning I am still functioning at a normal level, but covert WWIII is exploding all over my body. I've been very blessed in the fact that I haven't gotten sick since my injury up until now but DAMN. That achey feeling your body gets goes to a whole new level. While the rest of the body does its thing, sleepers are carrying out kill-shots in my knee. It's a miserable experience and I don't recommend it to anyone. 

F you cold. F you.