February 4th, 2007


monstrous cold

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         I feel monstrous. I have for a couple of days now. I want to stand on a high crag and fling lightning bolts at a sea full of ships below me. I want to be one thousand feet tall and crush the milling mob with every step while I hurl boulders the size of buildings at them. I want to slither smooth as an otter through a great throng with a stilletto in hand slitting wrists, surgically puncturing femoral arteries, poking people in the jugular before I slide away.

         I've been listening to Terry Pratchett's books of late, "The Colour of Magic", "The Truth", and "Going Postal". I have found a number of the Discworld novels in mp3 format, but have not yet listened to any of them. Often such things are of very poor quality. I wish I could get more enjoyment from listening to books. Often I have to quit after only a few minutes out of sheer irritation at the slowness or sheer ineptitude of the reader.

         I have just awakened from a Tragic Mistake, that being today's word for a Lengthy Nap. I slept noon to four and now feel completely miserable. Every cold symptom I was holding at bay ganged up on me during the nap and is now manifesting itself. My ears feel like they are full of cotton, my sinuses feel filled with cheez-whiz, my head is doing the woozy dance, my tongue seems to be made of leather, and we won't even talk about my eyes.

         Enough for today.