Delirium

It's amazing what conclusions one can draw, it's amazing what things we see, it's amazing what sudden clarity bursts through like sunlight; all under the influence of deliruim.

But I'm rambling.

You see, I hate being sick. It makes me feel...incompetent. Plus, laying down and sleeping the day away is for weaklings. (It's strange how when I am healthy, I shun work, and when I am sick, I seek it.)

In between convulsive shivering and the clenching of my teeth and blanket, came dreams, and these dreams came true. Revelation in delirium.

It's nothing like the feeling I get when I'm intoxicated, everything is so hi-goddamn-larious then. No, everything is blurry, but in a much more serious sense. Like taking morphine.

I can remember back then. I was a little eight-year-old with dilated pupils. Lambchop and Barney held such fascination for me; but that plastic lion that dangled from the hospital bed never wanted to come down and play. I stared for hours at the pin that pierced through my leg, wondering why it wouldn't hurt me.

I could sit in this corner all day, not moving; my eyes fixed on something, and yet nothing, my body cold and my mind numb. And in the far reccesses of my mind, I'll be working, fast and furiously, on thoughts that I have dismissed as the product of a sad, cold, and lonely state of mind. I am my greatest critic.

Something has creeped up behind me. It's a heavy and warm feeling. It bids me to close my eyes. It bids me to go to sleep.

I cannot give in.