March 30, 2004
I suppose that the fact is obvious to frequent readers of this blog that I am feeling much better today than I have for the past week. I believe that the antibiotics the doctor gave me are working their magic. I have no fever and no aches this morning. In fact, I feel pretty good, except for being tired and wrung-out.
That was one bitch of a flu.
I hope I don't suffer another relapse. One good sign is that I'm hungry. I managed to eat a little while I was sick, but everything tasted like cardboard. I could choke it down, but I really didn't want to. I drank a lot of chicken soup.
It's a miserable experience to be sick all by yourself. That's one of the things I miss about being married. If I wanted another cup of soup, I had to stagger into the kitchen and make it myself. If I were married, I could lay on the couch, act really pathetic (which would NOT have been a stretch) and ask, "Honey, would you please bring me a cup of soup?"
A good wife would bring the soup and wipe my feverish brow with a cool towel, while whispering words of encouragement in my ear. I didn't have that; instead, I had an ex-wife trying to wish me to death and steal all of my money at the same time.
I've not seen Quinton in more than a month now. I miss him a lot. I can't call him, but he could call me-- except that I know he won't. When I was locked up for 45 days back in 2001, I wrote Quinton a letter every day and I never received a single reply. All I ever got in the mail was screw-me-over divorce proposals from the bloodless cunt while she was running all over the place with her new lover.
Quinton knows my phone number. I wish he would call.
I am back to where I started
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