I feel like crevice pie juice

I feel like absolute shit ass. I have been restricted to the confines of my cell for two days now, incapacitated and unable to write anything more than the swill I'm writing now. My taste buds have taken a vacation without me. This screen burns my eyes. I have a fever that teeters between 102 and 103 and sometimes beyond. I am cold and wet. I have forgotten what it feels like to be sick. Sick like this, normal person sick. I sit in bed and nap on and off but the blankets feel to heavy and make me sweat incessantly, leaving me a pale and pasty wet mess of phlegm and googoo. Reading is impossible. Words leap from the page and splinter my cornea. Each letter of each word like dagger or throwing knife aimed dead on and sinking deep into my ailing brains. My mattress, a sponge of sweat, snot and germs. I am confined to my cell so as not to infect the others. It’s starting to smell in here. I make an attempt at crossing the room, leaving the safety of my bed, hobbling towards my desk to try and sit and write something halfway decent. By the time I reach my desk I’m shivering. The sweat feels like it’s freezing to my body. My clothes are wet and its almost time to change again. My hand trembles as I try and grip the pen. My palms sweat so profusely that I have to lift my hand off the page after each letter or I’ll leave a trail of illegible ink smudge on the page and my hands. My nose just made a weird ass noise. Sounds like an old door creaking open and its still creaking now. I wish I could have recorded the sound. I often complain about not feeling. But not today sir, oh no. Good ole Mister Feelnothing most definitely feels like shit on top of crevice pie juice today. All I can think about is how crusty I feel and how much I miss my Beej. The late great feline, Beej. The Beej was always there for me whenever I felt like Shiite. Strange how in tune animals are with their owners, how well they really get to know you and are always there for you without having ever been told anything. How they know to come and comfort you without being asked. How when every other human is avoiding you, they are perfectly willing to sit and rest next to your shivering sick carcass with no fear of contracting anything from you. Oh how I miss the Beej. But he’s gone now. I miss him dearly but I’m in no condition to properly eulogize him here and now. I will at a later date. In case you don’t know, the Beej was the best pet in the history of pets. His real name is Jade. He got really sick and we had to put him down. He was in his early 20’s. I’m getting a tad bit sad writing about him and I think doing so is making me feel sicker. I feel my fever climbing steadily. I’m too ill to write any further and am surprised I even made it this far. Its time to slither across the basement into the shower now, where I will sit and soak and cough and spit and sneeze until the hot water runs out. I’m not thrilled about leaving my crevice and getting wet but I know the heat and steam and vapors will do me some good. I have about a quarter pound of phlegm to expectorate. I wonder why I’m even writing when I feel so crappy and I wonder who would even care to read such jibberish.