January 12th, 2004

Self-Portrait 3

(no subject)

Four more months. Four months and I'll be thirty years old. Do you have any idea how much it sucks that I can already feel my body breaking down? I mean that seriously, in the most literal sense of the words. My eyesight isn't as good as it was a year ago. My hearing has started to slip just a tiny bit. My sense of smell is almost completely shot. I used to be able to recognize most of my friends by scent. I still can, if my nose decides it feels like working. I get up some days I'm tip-top, and some days I literally can't smell shit.

The worst part is this whole getting sick crap. I was sick two weeks ago. Headache, fever, coughing, the whole deal. Took me out for a weekend and then I was fine. Two lousy weeks later, and I'm sick again. I can't remember the last time that happened to me. I honestly don't know if it's ever happened before. Crap like this is why I was so excited about that new robot that Sony built. That just means I'm one step closer to my ultimate dream of taking my brain out of this rotting sack of meat and putting it in a shell that can actually take some punishment. Of course, eventually I'd grow tired of my indestructible metal body and curse my tortured immortal existence, which is apparently what you're supposed to do when you become immortal. Stupid immortality.

Christ, I hate being sick.