Scribble: This is why I don't write while sick.

      Another cough. Race to the sink, barely in time to expunge. Head feels like swimming with cement shoes.
      Cold water. Hands dry, cracked, bare. A gnat, waterlogged, washes upon the porcelain shore. Maybe I drowned it. So ignorant.
      Another cough. Nothing comes. Steady pace back to the couch. Legs flail like fleeing gnats, made soggy by immeasurable giants.
      Running nose. Tonight, I am a murderer. Tonight, something tries to murder me.
      Another cough...