'is inbetween ill and not'

I just made it to the fridge for the first time in a day. I opened the door without seeing it as an obstacle. I ate a banana! I had a cup of tea! I couldn't quite manage the crusts on the one slice of beans on toast, my stomach knew by way of my eyes that it wasn't up for that just yet. I started to think about the caramelisation of crusts, that chemical reaction, which I can't recall now, but I think I must buy that McGee book on kitchen science.

Oh I hurt. I had a laugh and I've been sitting in only a chair since the top of the page and I hurt. My spine is throwing rings of pain round each intercostal muscle, the length of my spine, I feel like I've been eating swords. I'm not sure I will be able to make it out of the house at all today. I want to lie down. I will probably do that next. And fall asleep to another film.

I had the best day possible after the blurriest one yesterday. I paid tax bills and did accounts and booked appointments. I will hand wash. These things are boring and leave you with less than nothing. Perhaps being empty also emptied my mind. I thought I could go vegetarian. I might. I could. Virgin stomach. I have never been sick so many times, I think I quadrupled my entire life's record in under 12 hours. I didn't cry once, perhaps because I didn't quite understand. Or my solar plexus was rather busy.

I want to book my train tickets. I want to spend more invisible money. Again, I have not yet sat down 'to write' and think about it all, again, but sometimes I just want things to be a bit more organic than that. I talked to numerous people last night about the internship, about the writing. I decided that however irresponsible it might be to live for today, tomorrow, just about next week, with a small eye on the biannual undercurrent, what the hell if it's fun and I'm alive and I'm not being sick. I know I'm not well when I'm not writing or dancing or eating or laughing. Good barometers.