greenstorm | Whine, Whine.

When I am sick, I whine constantly.

I'm sick. My throat feels disgusting. My stomach is icky. I'm not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to do anything, and I can't think or concentrate, even on a book. My throat only feels better when I'm drinking warm drinks; my stomach only feels better when I'm eating dry bready things to soak up the goop dripping into it from the back of my throat. Lying down makes my head hurt. Sitting up makes me angry. I'm alternately too cold and too hot. Standing up makes me tired. I can't kiss anyone. I can't put any objects of questionable decency in my mouth. The internet makes me bored, books make me confused. I want mashed potatoes. Whine, whine, whine. It was raining today, and Juggler brought me soup and tea and saved my life thereby, but I will continue to whine. Grumble, grumble. Mutter, whine. Even my rats are tired of it. Mph. Time to get better already.