I have the death. I've been fighting the sickness for almost a week and it finally caught up with me. My voice has ran away (and I'm too tired to catch it), my head is big (no, really), and my chest wants to stop breathing. Oh what fun.

This morning in my drug induced sleep I dreampt that Elvis took me to a post office. When he left to go inside, many scary people surrounded the car. When he came back, I had a dozen pear shaped eggs. I look to Elvis, hold up an egg and tell him that I am going to drain the eggs with a nail and make scrambled eggs for him and then decorate the eggs with paint.

I think I should take less medicine.

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