I don’t know how many of you out there are the “I’m sick and am therefore delusional” types, but I am. When I get a fever or somehing other that lands me in bed with some NyQuil or whatever, I get rambly, about fifty times more than usual, and I get very delusional. Things that normally would never make sense, not even to me, start making sense in very clear and logical ways. I believe it’s akin to my habit of talking in my sleep saying things like, “You don’t have a bowling ball, so you wouldn’t understand. Go get a bowling ball and then you’ll understand.” I talk in my sleep, however, usually only for a sentence or two, and it’s not all that regular. Rather, when I’m sick, I talk non-stop whether I’m awake or not. Too bad I don’t tend to wear my throat out when I’m sick or I’m sure I’d shut up faster.

But then there are the thoughts. The thoughts are what get to me. They’re so vibrant, so intriguing, so insane–and I can’t get away from them. I can’t think about anything other than the strange musing that currently occupies my head, and it keeps me from sleeping or moving or being able to carry on a conversation on any level. Last night when I woke up around four, it was the thoughts that kept me paralyzed in bed staring at the wall, wondering if I could move if I could just stop thinking.

The thought was this: my intestines had become undead. Having watched far too many horror movies lately and having just finished playing DnD a few hours previous, this seemed a very real threat to me as I remained rooted to the spot, listening to the husband’s snores. My intestines ached oddly like they were either too full or too empty, and I couldnt decide which because I was far too fixated on the fact that my intestines were now undead and yet somehow still inside me, a living being. I couldn’t tell if this was nausea or the onset to diarrhea or if it was just gas because I couldn’t stop thinking about how undead my intestines were. Undead intestines, undead intestines, undead intestines… I just kept repeating it in my mind, and for a fleeting moment, I thought about waking Ian up to ask him if his intestines were still alive or not.

After about ten or fifteen minutes of this delusional mind-dribbling, I eventually got up and went to the bathroom to see if there were something I could do to destroy the Undead Intestines. Ten stinky minutes later on the toilet, and I seemed to have purged the unholiness within. So, I went back to bed and managed to get the Undead Intestines out of my mind long enough to fall back asleep. Now here I am, wondering at my own sanity at the fact that I thought it in the first place and secondly that I sit here typing it up now. I don’t know too many other people who get so delusional when they’re sick; most people I know just sleep or get cranky. I guess I’m special. Special. At least the Undead Intestines have gone for now.