I Am Sick and I Am Angry

I have spent my entire week trying not to get pneumonia or bronchitis. I almost didn't succeed. There was fluid building next to my left lung, enough that if you pressed my left side I would cough uncontrollably, but not enough to show up on an x-ray (of course, but the doctor saw the evidence of it himself). I am brain foggy. I am tired. I am not sleeping in my hammock because of this. Instead, I am sleeping on the floor, in my closet nest, where I will not subluxate my right shoulder sleeping again (ideally) or put pressure on my left lung because I can sleep on my belly down here.

And that is how Saturday morning found me.

I am furious at my country. I am grieving for my people. I am too ill and too tired to want to live through the public execution of a prone, unarmed man who was trying to give medical care to an injured woman. And please do not let your media pundits lie to you. That is what this was. The public execution of a man by the secret police a tyrant in my country has given too much power because none of the polititians in my country can find a fucking spine.

And I'm just a practically nameless author, this is a blog only nine people are subbed to and maybe half of you read, so I am getting this off my chest and I do not give a flying fuck what the secret police think about that.

There's already too much phelgm in my chest without bearing the weight of all this anger as well.

I'm going to go make some art about it. Thursday's update will be spicy.