Prose and stimulation are lacking, head is hazy, nose running, body aches as if I were old. I've wanted to work out, to give my muscles a reason to moan, but each time I start, I'm able to do less than half of what is normal, and then collapse, breathless and more sore than before. I look forward to the cold passing, to waking up and feeling awake instead of the perpetual sense of sleep that I feel right now. Cures and remedies are but momentary comfort, a few hours in which I can breathe through my nose, mind feels like it can accomplish the meagre tasks that I have set for the day. And then the feeling passes and I drift back into the bubble, ears muffled and wanting to pop like on an airplane. Bring on the weekend. Perhaps the night will pass without restless motion, dry throat and clammy skin.
I need to stop smoking, my colour becoming ashen grey, eyes dragged down by heavy black bags. My patches lie unopened, waiting to be attached to skin, to gently allow the drug to permeate into my body, supply the addiction while I avoid the habit. I've tried once, but did not give it enough time, took it for granted that I would not desire the comfort of a burning cigarette. Time to give it another go, to put my will into it. To motivate myself with the thought of relish that body will feel more alive, that the poison in my veins will slowly seep out my pores and revival will begin.
Today the work is hard, simple thoughts require effort to concentrate mind and eyes blink to clear the blur. Roll on finishing time. I look forward to sleep as though I have not slept in days. I can't wait to feel healthy again.