I didn’t mean to say I’m like a bird. I do feel like a crone right now though.

I can barely move. I’m lurching, if that’s even what you’d call it. Somehow my fingers are able to dance their intricate waltz across the keys and produce whatever it is that’s about to spout onto the page and all with minimal typos. Huzzah! I’ve contracted some type of mystery illness. Given my predisposition towards shambling, I’m inclined to think I’ve become he harbinger of a zombie apocalypse. My room mate will be the first to go, but I’m skeptical that as a rotting automaton I’d have the forthright intelligence to escape out of any of the locked doors in my flat. It’d be Z2K, Y2K’s potentially more exciting but ultimately more disappointing step child. I’d stumble around the place walking into walls for a while before the hyper-efficient heating dried me out entirely. Humanity will thank the stars that I never bought a humidifier to dampen my rampant static electricity abilities.

My laziness will be the saviour of homo sapiens worldwide. Especially because my hunger is known for it’s ravenousness. Ravenousity? Ravenofficiency? I can eat, yo. I proved this after being invited to help myself to another work team’s Christmas pot luck’s leftovers. Then someone bought cookies to our production team meeting. Then we had birthday cookie cakes for the November/December babies in our department. I’m not gonna lie, my first thought was diabetes. Too much unused sugar sowing chaos through my bloodstream. Things are gonna get full blown Kaneda up in this bitch. It’d explain the impaired movement, the sensitive, painful skin as my organs attempt to burst to the surface. The diabetus doth mistreat us. All day I thought I was just worn out from my grossly inadequate sleep patterns lately. I treated my diagnosis with liquid caffeine. I presumed the hollow feeling permeating my corpus was symptomatic of some kind of overdose. I only had 3 cups though. Not nearly enough to suffer the same fate as poor Jessie. Those aren’t lollies, you fool. They’re physical allotments of time that enact their cost in a Dorian Grey-ian fashion.

The obvious answer is that I’ve been afflicted by radiation poisoning from my new phone. Think of the facts: yesterday I wasn’t sick, but today I am. Being the embodiment of human detritus has only exponentially increased the longer that this cursed false friend has been in my life. There is literally no other possibility. I downloaded a malicious virus through some non-market android app and it’s having cataclysmic consequences for my quietly corroding composition. Christ, conned cunningly ’cause of craftily created contemporary contagions. Confound it! Crap, crud and contemptible cusses. Cholera, clearly.

Wow, look at how the time flu by. Grippe-d by a fever-ish fancy, not even a common cold-reader could’ve predicted such an ailment-ary process. Fare-well.

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