The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grisly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller…
Lyrics from Michael Jackson’s Thriller? Yes.
The most accurate way to describe how I currently feel on the inside? Also yes.
There’s not a lot more that’s going to come out of this tiny little blog post. I have ridiculous fatigue. I’m a skin suit for horrible smells and angry pockets of air. I want to sleep — SO BADLY — and I can’t seem to get there.
Whine. Mope. Whine. Mope. Complain. Whimper. Whine.