Let it be known, fair people of Brooklyntown, I was down for the count, but I am BACK.
After spending a week supine on my chaise, sweating Ricola, and watching the likes of Cashmere Mafia, I realized it was time to get well again. I mean in the physical sense, the mental part is just too taxing. I spent ten days in and out of feverish fantasies and doomsday visions, scouring my cabinets for pharmaecopia by day, and building pillow ziggurats to prop my head up on in order to avoid choking on whatever ghastly substance was brewing in my lungs by night. It was a fight of will, a fight for life, that one battle against death that I just wasn't ready to lose yet. Not alone anyway. Images of being found by a surly landlord under a pile of used tissues adhering themselves to me like a twisted papier mache kept me going. As did the will to see the first crocus of spring, sniff the first acrid aroma of burning charcoal and the flame inducing toxin it had been doused in...visions of good times to come kept me going. That, and Cashmere Mafia.
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