How am I doing?

The foulest stench is in the air
 The funk of forty thousand years
 And grisly ghouls from every tomb
 Are closing in to seal your doom
 And though you fight to stay alive
 Your body starts to shiver
 For no mere mortal can resist
 The evil of the thriller…

Lyrics from Michael Jackson’s Thriller? Yes.

The most accurate way to describe how I currently feel on the inside? Also yes.

There’s not a lot more that’s going to come out of this tiny little blog post. I have ridiculous fatigue. I’m a skin suit for horrible smells and angry pockets of air. I want to sleep — SO BADLY — and I can’t seem to get there.

Whine. Mope. Whine. Mope. Complain. Whimper. Whine.

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