Day one of the rest of our Lives

Here I sit with coffee beside me. A heated, scratchy throat that has stolen my voice, and limbs that feel like cracking and breaking off my body. Here I sit. I sit and stare. Into space, cyberspace. My eyes incoherent of the words being typed out. But here I sit, as sitting as can be. My bed calls out from beneath the sheets, beckoning me forth to whence I came. But naught, I refuse the temptation to sleep all day. I have things that need taking care of. For one, this coffee needs finishing, and this blog needs to be written. And a cigarette needs to be lit, and pressed between my lips. I can predict the sighing, the groans, the grunts from my audience. but do I really care about my health now that I'm sick as sick can be? Not a damn. This coffee is damn fine splendid. And that cigarette will be too...