Light Housework
The world is a cattle farm and slaughterhouse.
After lying down for a while, the hint of nausea is gone and my appetite is back. My lung’s not hurting. But I expect the pain to return. My lung still feels sickly. I’m not in the mood to paint. I won’t forget having felt so bad earlier. I will again feel so bad, soon, I expect. The rattling cough just happened now, and my lung feels ominous and I will probably lie back down soon. I’m not expecting any more reprieves from feeling sickly. I’m pretty sure I won’t make it to the November art show. I am enjoying having my appetite back and eating an orange, some tahini, and a cucumber. I don’t feel like watching videos of you or painting portraits of you right now Morrissey. I wouldn’t make good company as I am currently. I’m feeling quite sorry for myself and am jealous of people who enjoy robust health. The way my lung feels isn’t romantic. I feel screwed, and uninspired. The sensation in my right lung is distracting and has my attention in its grip.