i have a fever.. my head is hot and my eyes wont stay open. my cheeks were flushed all through dinner. this time i wont blame their color on nerves.

i havent been sleeping much these days. it's the insomnia; it's the way i think, in long long not often-interrupted chains. i need a manual shutdown. i need to clear some space. my head is heavy with concern, and with this creeping hot of fever.

i look around and i feel like a foreigner. in the middle of the familiar, i am the strange. a dandylion in the queen's roses and a clover in the apple orchard, and i hesitate to make friends with my surroundings, for so quickly they have been known to change.