Today was supposed to be a day off to get things done with…but I spent most of it clutching my stomach and trying to move as little as possible…

I can see the black and white noir setting, the detective pacing, cigarette spewing foggy phantoms in the air. He’s called everyone in the room together, in order to solve the crime. One person in the room is the criminal. It is a frightening bunch. By the fire, stands the Chinese Buffet I ate yesterday in Eureka (the good place was closed…so we went to the not so good place). Sitting in a chair, is the shifty eyed and nervous 24 Ounce Cup of double caffeinated super coffee (I drank in the am hours the night before). He looks guilty of something. Ah, but sitting, seductively on the grand piano, at the other side of the library study, is the femme fetal of our story, Miss Flu Virus. The fedora wearing detective, paces, lookes each suspect in the eye, and then says…

[cue lighting flash, power outage, and a death in the dark]

I really don’t know what the detective said. I’m not sure which suspect is guilty. All I know is that I woke up this morning with my body wracked by a sickness and pain in my stomach. I felt as though I was going to puke from the moment I woke up, till about 6 pm or so…but it never happened. And now it’s gone. Now I’m curious about solid foods, but only brave enough to try some tomato soup…

…and I was going to get things done today.

Instead, I kept trying to answer the very nice comments you folks gave on my last post…but I could hardly get halfway through reading them without doubling over in agony, looking at the floor.

But it’s past and while I feel under the weather still…all things being relative, I feel greeeeeeeaaaat!

So here is some weird free writing I found. The kind I did when I’d wake up and write before I was awake, before even going into the bathroom…weird stuff comes out of your hands before you’re really awake…

THEY’RE STILL REAL
“See”,” he said, “I told you they were real.”
I stared down the well and all I could do was nod.
I stared and I nodded and that was it.
The night turned to day.
And I swore off alcohol forever.
But it didn’t help.

CACKLES IN THE PATCH
Every year they gathered at the pumpkin patch, picking little goblins in embryo. This was the only time they saw one another. These moments were all they had. They rarely spoke. They exchanged their recopies their grimories and then they were off, another year of brews and spells ahead.

CUBICAL PURGATORY
Rob sat in his cubical, hunkered down in the world of dull pain and silent screams. Cut off from his fellow humans by walls of tin and padding, he could only hear the click-clack of typing.

Rob stared at the computer screen, the lifeless glow holding him in place, leaching his youth.

What if, Rob wondered, what if this is Purgatory and I’m dead? What if salvation is an email chain letter I deleted without reading?