My mind tells me in my dreams the only way to get mine is to give up.  And sometimes when tempted towards existential giveupingness, I have to look back at my delusions to remind me I'm not crazy, and what good the future can hold.  But the fact still remains, that my beard itches, flies adorn my face, and I ripely smell.

I'm sick, bird.

psst...I can smell the inside of my nose.

The linings of the right side of my face and my temple I'm pretty sure are green. And when I touch the right side of my face, it's like touching a cheap melted ice pack.

I'm on antibiotics, and I remember a line from a Radiohead song about being on antibiotics, so I know it's cool to do antibiotics.