johnotronic

I'm getting sick.

I don't know if I can explain it, but it's like my brain knew something was amiss before my body did. Sleeping last night was an absolute fucking chore, an endeavor that began at nine thirty and wasn't successful until midnight thirty at the earliest. No position was adequate, no pillow large enough to grasp, no temperature suitable. I slept fitfully, my thoughts clouded by a nameless fear that I couldn't shake, a fear that encompassed every aspect of my future, from the coming workday to midterms to trying to make it through this life I've created for myself instead of truncating it with double-barreled punctuation.

I woke up with sinuses showing the beginning stages of congestion and my throat sore. I slept some more. And some more. And when I finally rose, it was to a day without accomplishment. Bad movies on cable TV and another shift of selling jeans to teenagers. Three beers at a theme restaurant to close it out.

I'm almost scared to go back to bed. And I'm reluctant to assume I'll get any real work done tomorrow. Today was not good, but tomorrow could be outright terrible. To imagine it any other way will most likely end in disappointment.