I am sitting here, wishing for words to type. I feel like I am on the verge of going bonkers. I am looking around my house and I can’t do much about the converging mess that is creeping over the floors like growing vines. I want to scrub things, but I can’t without feeling as though I am busting a lung. Thank God this can’t last forever. My futures trading up or down: either I get well or I don’t. I feel promise, but it’s so hard to feel that promise the whole day. The night sets in, the pains increase, the chills hover around my fingers trying to cling to my skin. I can feel them…trying to take hold, but the fever is gone. Why does it continue to try and plague me? My brain is higher than my head, floating on the essence of my existence.