Dear diary,

It came as something very slight, a miniscule discomfort that could barely be noticed. Then it began to worsen, slowly encroaching, spreading its festering tentacles through the gamut of pipelines that lay before it defenseless, the seemingly impregnable breached, a buffet for its taking.

Before long, I was dripping like a leaky faucet and shivering like a chihuahua in Siberia. (And for inexplicable reasons, chihuahuas always seem to be shivering, whatever the context.)

Yes, I have flu. Quite a serious bout of it too. And you ask why can't I just be trenchant about it and get straight to the point? Because, I wish to morbidify my predicament, let it be known that sq doesn't falter to a paltry common flu virus. Yes, it's probably a deadly variant that has weakened me so. I insist.

My eyes are closing. Random thoughts start zipping past me like a hyped up conveyor belt in a cheap sushi restaurant. I see the old lady I didn't help across the street. The single digit test marks that I received. The 10 cents that I shied away from the tin can clasped in the hands of a pretty SNGS student. The time I jaywalked across the street. And another street. And yet another street. The time I thought about sex. The instance when I fell asleep in class. Ok, that flashing probably took up most of the time in my recollections. Actually, that, and the sex.

Am I dying then? No, unlikely. Well it seems like it though, or have I mistaken death for the efficacious little bottle that says "Caution: May cause drowsiness"?

Zzz...