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February 02, 2005
flowers, rice and the faint memories of a sick night. The flowers on my tables died before they even opened, but maybe exactly this made them even more beautiful for me. The shadow of one of the forward leaning tulips appears to be the blurry head of a giraffe dog, on the large, white, rectangular vase, here on the table in front of me. The corpse of the tulip in the back has been kissing the wall for days now. Some of the fallen off petals look like red tea. Others look like dust, again others look like lost claws of a fiery cat that happened to scratch on golden doors. The best two hour phone conversations feel like very short five minutes. My second serving of rice for the day seems to be exactly what my stomach craves right now. At least I am not having the shivers I experienced yesterday. Severe shaking of the entire body, a very cold feeling in the core, the chest, the stomach. The stomach wanting to leave my body, or at least empty itself. I had to wear several sweaters and even a jacket to make it somewhat bearable for myself to be rolled into blankets trying to sleep. It was not until three in the morning that the medicine kicked in, making my body finally notice that it was cocooned in layers and layers of wool and thinsulate and cotton and God knows what. I had to change my clothing and even the side of the bed. All I have eaten since is simple rice and pepto bismol. I will be fine. I really love these flowers. If only their now yellow stems would not take on this brownish color in the small amount of water they no longer want to drink, I would keep them much longer. Unfortunately I will have to let them go... soon... My bowl of rice is empty now. I would like to have another phone conversation... please. Tonight I am not able to leave the house.