I woke up with something hard in my throat.
I'm hoping it's nothing. I hate being aware of my body. I hate when I swallow and feel something, which makes me swallow again to see if I feel it again, and so on, and before I know it I am thinking with considerable seriousness about the quality of my throat, whether it's any different than it was yesterday, and I start making excuses for it, blaming the dryness of the room or the position that I slept in, and all along a creeping certainty creeps closer, that *something is happening in my throat*, that if something were not happening, I would not be having this conversation with myself.
I've become rather terrified of illness.
The real test, though, of true sore throatness: do I want coffee. If I still want coffee, then I tend to think it's nothing serious. Because whenever the real sore throat comes, the thought of coffee makes me cry, and all I want are slippery beverages like Gatorade.
I think everything is going to be all right. I'm drinking a coffee the size of my head.
I've become rather terrified of illness.
The real test, though, of true sore throatness: do I want coffee. If I still want coffee, then I tend to think it's nothing serious. Because whenever the real sore throat comes, the thought of coffee makes me cry, and all I want are slippery beverages like Gatorade.
I think everything is going to be all right. I'm drinking a coffee the size of my head.