12:07 last night, after hours of lying too awake to be half-awake, I realized that drugs are a thing that you can take to help with your sickness, instead of, bruteforcing your way through or whatever the heck I'd been doing. It wasn't until 40 minutes later that I got my fix: two capfulls of thick syrup, dark reddish purplish, the color of the blood of a king whose arteries have just been slashed open. It presumably tastes like death, in that it's indescribable and you'd have to experience that qualia for yourself, but it would put you into a deep slumber if you did take any, making the taste remain indescribable. I say presumably though: the drowsy formulae, like most, don't really work on me, and it's another couple of hours before my sleep is true.
The bottle says to take a dose every 6 hours; I wasn't conscious at 6:00 am, but I was around for the others. Feeling a little better. My nose is dry, and I can breath through it now.
I spent most of the day parked out on the couch. No church. I only left the apartment once, to grab a $.25 packet of ramen from the vending machine in the lounge downstairs. No other contact with the outside world. Not to say I never looked out of the window; at one point today it appears to have snowed.
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