On the plus side, I don't have pneumonia, and the fact that the doctor from SOS Médecins wrote "bronchitis" (or rather, "bronchite") on my housecall receipt should with any luck secure a 66-euro reimbursement from my university's health services. On the minus side, from my room's open window I can hear the cheering and thumping bass and intermittent airhorn blast waft in from Parisian gay pride while I'm stuck here with my fatigue and wheezing and trash bag full of used tea sachets and phlegm (tasty!). Also on the minus side: the housekeeper that my renters employ seems today to be taking great pleasure in rattling around and being as thorough as fucking possible in his weekly visit, thereby disallowing me the opportunity to slink unnoticed into the kitchen to microwave myself some more water. Scrub the goddamn bathroom tile a little more meticulously, why don't you buddy? I have to pee, and I wants my hot water.
As far as the tea goes, at least having to decide between vanilla, caramel and peach-blackcurrant makes my life a little more interesting. Until I can get back in there I suppose I'll have another dose of Advil. Mmm, coating.
...Ooo, they're playing a dance remix of What a Feeling! Irene Cara always cheers me up...
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Reductionism who in the what now?
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