You really should be able to eat your own face.

You’re writhing around in a pure white cocoon, searching for the light, the way out to freedom. You’ve fully progressed, done what you needed to do. You finally emerge into the world. But you’re not a beautiful butterfly. You didn’t just accomplish one of the most wondrous acts of nature, no. You put a doona in a doona cover…on the floor, with your whole body…

There must be an easier way to change my bed coverings without feeling like I belong on the discovery channel.

“…And here she comes, out from the encasing of her linen cocoon…the adolescent bedmaker is typically covered in a purple and grey skin called tracksuit pants and a hooded jumper, or as the natives of this country say ‘trackie dacks and a hoody’. As she fully emerges the hair on top of the head is usually tousled and frizzy with static. The bedmaker is quite disorientated and takes a few moments to discover her bearings…”

Nevertheless, this has not been the only instance where I could narrate my actions in a David Attenborough like internal monologue.  I’m sure being distracted by shiny things qualifies as some sort of deep seeded animalistic tendency, as so happened the other night when I stepped out of the shower, forgot that I had painted my toenails purple that day, looked down, thought ‘oh, how pretty’, momentarily lost my balance, regained it, looked down again, as if entranced, and thought ‘so pretty’. To be fair I probably was still delusional with fever from a cold I had contracted a few days before, but I still pin it down to an uncommon ‘girly’ episode. Apart from occasionally painting my nails certain hypnotizing colours, I’m not one to overly indulge in many distinctly female practices. I’ve never even bought lipstick before. Mostly because it tastes gross and would infringe upon the all consuming chap-stick addiction I’ve had since the sixth grade. And as I, as a post shower ritual, put the coconut based oil my mum concocted, on to my face, and it smelled of coconut rough, I concluded that you should be able to eat your own face.

Because you’re a zombie.

No, because you should be able to eat whatever you put on your face, eh hem…obviously. Perhaps that’s why I go through, what feels like, friggin’ fifty passion-fruit, pineapple or coconut chap-sticks a month…(Alba Botanica Lip Balms, you really should try them. She says as she applies another deliciously fruity layer to her lips with strange compulsion) . Your skin is, after all, your biggest organ. So you better be putting good stuff on it ’cause those tiny little pores, yep, they absorb stuff too.

Kind of like Spongebob…

And if this analogy is true then I’d be worried that any chemical based, Sodium Lauryl Sulfate containing skin care products would have me ending up looking more like this…

But alas, I can relax, I am not a sponge. Not literally anyhow.

I am, however, a red hot school bus that gets your kids to school in record breaking time! Sorry, that was just the fever talking. I had never experienced a delusional fever until a couple of nights ago. It was quite a trip. I was lying in bed with my head propped up, body straight as if I was a mummy and my bed covers were my bandages – my organs safely stored away in individual Canopic Jars for my use in the afterlife…

Not really.

Anyhow, the temperature under those covers felt like a bazillion degrees, and I was mildly hallucinating that my body was a form of transport…The fever then broke, I thought, until I had this conversation with my mind.

‘The fever is over, you can see the world.’ – ‘How many countries are there in the world?’ – Then I was flying over a massive map where every country was an individual circle – ‘There are a lot, I couldn’t possibly visit them all before the night is over. Can we go to South Africa?’ – ‘If you can see it all in one and a half hours’ – ‘Quite possible.’

But, you know, not that different from the regular conversations I have with myself in the middle of the night…

Oh, kitties, you can express any human emotion!

Some how I think my prolonged illness has driven me bat shit crazy.

Yet, I still share.

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