Shoo Away The Dread, I’m Drinking Ceylon, Wet Socks

The water came out of the shower head, hit my cold and miserable body, then escaped down into the pipes, letting gravity pull it through the drainage system.

I sit on the couch and yawn. My body feels like a wet sock that was left out on the concrete to dry. 

Drained. Depleted. Subdued.

I can’t tell if it’s still from the jet lag or the hot pot spice last night. My body is rejecting Beijing. My body is rejecting China.

I am slowly dying. But hey, aren’t we all? And couldn’t I just laugh a few more times before it’s all through?

I am laying on my couch in sweatpants. I am drinking Ceylon tea. It’s black like the blood that comes from the deepest part of a wound.

It’s Sunday and the thought of the work week is creeping up my spine and into my brain. I wish I could stop that thought. Freeze it in the air and shoo away the dread.

Subdued

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