April 4th, 2002. - 8:30 p.m.

Perhaps this is as bad as it gets?

Yup, that's it. I am going to die sometime tonight in my sleep. Yup. You heard me the first time around. Sigh, melodrama.

All the connective tissues supporting my spine have dissolved, and have been replaced with dress maker's pins. The head is permeated with a dumb pain, dancing in circles like a playful dragon. Feeling 'not to be touched', (beware, she will bite). Paper tissues left to lie where ever they fall. The vision is a flood of blurriness. The standard vice like grip on the chest worstened. Gulps of water to fend off dehydration become barbed in the mouth, and scrapes its way down the throat.

Perhaps I should venture out of this hole in the wall and find a doctor.

N.

�