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Self-Portrait 3
The commonly held opinion of the masses is that I am a titan, some manner of indefatigable colossus; far beyond the concerns of mere mortals, unstoppable and invincible, following in the footsteps of Spotted Horse or perhaps Leon.

Ah, if only that were so. The truth of the matter is that I have been sick and growing sicker for at least the past three days, perhaps the past four. Monday was the coughing and hacking and sneezing. Yesterday was a little better, and I thought I was on the upswing. Today was about like yesterday but a couple hours ago I took a turn for the worse. I'm weak, and shaky. I barely had the strength in me to make it home when I got off work today; I'm in the process now of marshalling my resources so that I can cook and get some food in my belly. I'm hopeful that this bout of weakness is a sign that my body has mustered one last push to rid me of whatever ails me, but I can't help but be suspicious. The failures of this damnable shell have been more and more numerous since it hit the 30-year mark, this sickness being just the latest example of that. I fear that catastrophic failure is imminent.

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Andy was the one who never got sick, right? Seems like I remember that. And something about his heart being on the right side of his body.

Well, take care. Tell Lai Lai to cross the street with some honey chicken and save your strength.

Also, if you die, I call dibs on your DVDs.

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