August 7, 2014

In terms of the fever phantasmagoria in my mind, last night was the worst ever. Pain and heat tossed my body. I was surrounded by objects full of infection, infected tables and pins and cloths that all had to be flushed free of the disease before I could be. Closets and bureaus were full of things that had brought on the disease before. I pulled those out, investigating them, trying to discover what it was and who was trying to hurt me so terribly. Someone was in the room with me. He had been sick like that in the past, and he was trying to talk me through the process of cleansing the objects. I rose at midnight and drove to the store to get grape juice, because I felt my bowels were blocked and grape juice always helps with that. I believe that really happened. Fitful, fantastical sleep. . . then waking into a room where there was nothing like what I had wrestled with all night. I looked for the objects which were so vivid. . . . which had such histories in my brain. In four hours I am supposed to be on a flight to New York. Can I do it? The delusions might be gone, but the sickness isn’t, and I can feel the fever rolling off of me. Now, as ever, the Almighty is a piece of work. One bird singing in the dark.