I am still unwell. The fever I had broke and returned again. I can’t breathe well, and I can’t hear out of my right ear. My lungs are on fire, my head is swimming, and my throat feels like someone shoved a molten steel wool sponge into it and left it there. I might be dying.
I am also prone to melodramatics.
If you need me, you’ll find me in bed for a third day.
