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Creativity starves insanity
Cough.
Something—or rather nothing as I would hope—might have just found a slipstream straight into the back of my throat.
Wince.
The body reflexes to eject the foreign object up and out with a forceful push of gutted air. This wouldn't matter as much if there was any medication left.
Cough, no luck.
It left a few months ago, sometime around when I needed it least. Mild is what I would class it. A bystander—innocent to no one but themselves—might see a sight of a guy with a tremendously hacky throat spasm—probably if they were lucky, a full body in motion suggesting a dry heave set to music. Shrugging for answers and getting nothing but a sore back in the process.
Expel?
If I knew what a hernia felt like, I think I could be rested a little more assured that the pain on the left side of my back is real. Something more than just a bookcase used to walk backward and hammer into. A bookcase would be nice, my comics could do with a little structure in their leaves, somewhere I shall spot a steel framed configuration of levels, when I do, levels at home!
Spasm.
For some reason I can't stop choking on my saliva.
Soon Van - Thursday, 16 August 2001 - 07:01
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