like flowers, but not

I'm not going to lie. pleurisy hurts. today it feels a bit like I've spent 24 consecutive hours having been pelted by large stones in the exact same place over and over again. I'm sick enough of fuzzyhead too to have stopped taking vicadin for a while. last night I carried on a conversation with D. for almost an hour, and I remember now we talked about aristotle and "meat" in different languages, but frankly the memory of it kinda feels a little like a tristan tzara experiment. and what a shame too, since I think I'd like a clear remembrance of a conversation about aristotle and meat.

back to the doctor for me for now. more later.