There is no point in writing this. I just need to keep my brain and my fingers busy.
It's been no more than 24 hours.
I've torn through Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The Looking Glass. And a surprisingly depressing, and grim book, I never got to reading until now.
Over all, about a thousand pages of nonsense.
I've also been here.
I've been wandering the house. Until my stomach churns. I can hear my pulse in my head. I can't sleep. I grow drowsy. Awoken by a protesting stomach. I'm so hungry. I can't eat.
Maybe I should puctuate my writing like Lewis Caroll.
It's awfully difficult. With the extra '.
I sha'n't.
Ha. I did.
That book was very depressing. Very grave. Not Lewis Caroll. It was a M. T. Anderson. The good guy wins. Because the bad guy wins. The world is saved. And the hero is left to rot. Until he expires.
I liked that book.
I really need sleep. I need to start getting ready for school in three and a half hours. I have to finish my project on the carbon cycle. It was due yesterday. Thrusday. Today is Friday. I have a quiz in Maths. I had a project in health, too. A public service announcement. I spelt that wrong, did'n't I?
Ha. I did it again.
I realized that the radio is VERY repetitive. They play the same 15 or 20 songs over and over. I have listened to the same 15 or 20 songs about 200 times today. I am estimating. I am too tired for math.
I am really hungry.
I can't believe it. Only five minutes have passed. Time is too slow. For now. At least.
Oi.
I think I need to throw up again.
This is'n't a flu. This is The Plague. Or something. Sickness does not make you this restless.
TheWildwoodDance
