Carrots

I'm afraid there's a problem with eating disorders. They're spelled very oddly and I dare say that all current pronunciations of them are incorrect. In fact, it is widely speculated that these words (anorexia, bulimia) originate from an alien tongue; anorexia meaning "fumigate" and bulimia meaning "the walk from the library was hard and long."

I find it reasonable to believe that the words became a part of human vocabulary due to a complex string of situations involving worm holes and carrots.

[Hrm, well this didn't really go anywhere now did it. Today's lesson: Improv writing while sick ends up having things not make sense. Hrm, let's try a little more though just because.]

Dirk Avenger and the Forthcoming Squad realized, at the last possible second, that he was a carrot.

[Yes, this really isn't working. I seem to think that there's something about me being sick and something about carrots existing that makes us related somehow. Perhaps a carrot was my father. [that really didn't make much sense at all. Well, at least I'll be updating this blog more. Improv writing is fun. Too bad I forgot about it a bit ago.] ]

Later

I see stars. The effort in sitting up is enormous. I feel sickly to my stomach, about to vomit. I suppose then I'd smell close to how I feel.

What a cruel thing the mind is. I know that it has created this place for me, this world of rust and blood. I know it's just my mind because despite where I feel I am I can smell where my body really is. I can still smell those fake flowers my wife sprays out of the can.

It will take great effort to move, this much I know. It's so comfortable to just lay, even while on a rusted metal grate. And the darkness here is so thick without interfering with my vision. Perfect to sleep. Perfect to be watched. I'd rather stay still, be seen as no threat.

Oh, if it would end. How happy I would be if it'd all end. Not just this place. All.

I'm afraid this place exists because here I find justification for the suffereing I felt in the other world. Or maybe this is the other world, but now I see it for real. But that smell, the can flowers, they cause me to linger. I curse their hold on me.

I can't die while she needs me, but I can't help her while I'm here. These are thoughts for later. Sleep will take me again, lest the beast does. Later.