On What Is #8

I'm sick with a cold, and it feels like I'm a completely different person. Stuck, heavy, inert to the extreme. I wonder if the cold caused these feelings, or if the feelings made me susceptible to the virus.

Boogersnot Girl has a life of her own, a body of goo wiggling about inside my body. Mucking up emotions, heating the furnace, stirring the swamp-soup.

Boogersnot Girl isn't pretty and isn't polite. She sneezes and blows her nose and scratches and farts. Boogersnot Girl isn't interested in sex, doesn't take showers, and chews with her mouth open.

Boogersnot Girl doesn't want to talk to people. She just wants to be a swamp thing made of goo, permanently merged with the covers of my bed.

Is that so hard to understand?