Time passes strangely amid a Benadryl-induced false reality. I fall asleep for what seems like hours only to awaken 15 minutes later. I put on Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue and close my eyes. Hours pass this way. Shadows bounce off of my white walled cell of a bedroom and children laugh and play in the streets seemingly mocking my condition.
I spasm in a coughing fit. Heaving dry coughs sting my throat. I roll around in my bed. I don’t want to be here. The psychotropic effect of the Benadryl on my system certainly doesn’t help the feeling of hopelessness and loneliness. I crawl from my bed into the small shower stall and turn on the hot water.
Red and yellow fish flutter around me in the steamy environment. I realize it is the pattern on the shower curtain. I look at myself in the reflective back of the shower head. My skull looks like an egg in the bowed reflection. My hands appear massive and threatening and the hot water pours over my body. Fever dreams on an Italian afternoon.
I blow my nose over and over again in the shower, ejecting the rotten mucus. I watch the phlegm circle down the plughole. It reminds me of my weekend.
After an unknown amount of time I drag myself out of the shower stall. My head starts to clear. I hope I can stay asleep tonight and feel up to going to Florence in the morning.
research / travel / musings
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