“I’m not sick!” I protested trying unsuccessfully to hold back a hacking cough. That had just started today. Before it was just a runny nose that no allergy medication could touch.
“Yes you are. Did you make a doctor’s appointment?” Doug was steering me towards something that looked suspiciously like my bed. When did we leave Starbucks?
“Doctor’s appointment!” I sputtered wiping a trail of mucus on the back of my hand, “but it’s only a cold a doctor couldn’t do anything for that. Virus. Wait it out.” I was lying in bed. At least the lost time was getting shorter.
“Not for that, for your asthma.”
“I don’t have asthma.” I narrowed my eyes at him from flat on my back. Unfortunately this led to my eyes closing.
“Right, I’ll let a doctor decide.”
“mrrrr” My eyes wouldn’t open, there was something I needed to resist wasn’t there?
“Go to sleep”
“mrrrr”
“Goodnight Jasmine.”
“Goodnight”
"Living is a sickness to which sleep provides relief every sixteen hours. It's a palliative. The remedy is death."
Nicolas de Chamfort
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