[rain]

I'm sick and this shit is not funny. My very personal recipe of swallowing as many Vitamin C pills as possible, in order to jump start my production of white blood cells that could do what they do best and is to fight whatever crazy virus is trying to make my life miserable, hasn't worked. An overdose of Benadril Severe Cold Relief earlier this week, left me acting like a zombie and still feeling like shit. My late grandma's recipe, of boiling hot tea with a ton of lemons squeezed in it and honey to do the trick, has helped me to miss and to remember her and the fact that she passed away about a year ago, but illness-wise, has done nothing [I even burned my tongue]. The common wisdom of wrapping yourself in several layers of sweaters and blankets in order to "sweat" the cold, has proven effective on the surface [the sweating part], but the illness has its claws stick deep inside my poor self and don't want to let go.

I wonder what is this illness seeing in such a nice guy like me? I eat an apple a day, which should've kept the doctor away, but is that virus maybe as font as as I am of those Red Delicious Apples? I even talked to Rose-Marie, a friend of my mom who lives here in CLT, and she told me that she's praying for my recuperation on top of all the praying that she says she does for me, but this illness has proven resistant to even the Intelligent Designer [oddly funny if you give it a second thought, doesn't it?].

Maybe things got worst because on Tuesday I behaved bad and end up going to the blues concert; and drinking a couple of ice cold beers, and walking out to the parking lot late at night with only my black v-neck sweater while a nice and cool wind was hitting the city. That was clearly a recipe for things getting worse on top of bad.

And Thursday, instead of being a good boy and coming straight home to take my medicines and blog about it, I went out and broke one of my golden rules. Well, not one of THE golden rules, but one of those little rules that I impose to myself after learning a lesson here and there. "Never, ever, buy a book based on its cover" is the aforementioned rule, the one that I broke. And as I was breaking the rule, I went ahead and broke it in style and got me instead of one, three books. I didn't break the rule three times, I broke it once because it all happened at the same time and only one credit card receipt was produced [whatever].


I got me a non-fiction book that has proven to be as thick and heavy as a cinder block; a novel that is nothing more than what a monkey with a type machine could produce; and a self-help book. Yeah, you read it right: Jean-Francois got himself a self-help book. . . which hopefully would help him figure out stuff.

There has been a big gray cloud over the building that houses the headquarters of the StrangerInStrangeLand blog [aka my life] and is not going away. I amaze myself sometimes with the amount of shit that I'm able to write on this pages and how little I talk about myself and what is going on in my life. Last time I had this thoughts I end up taking a looong hiatus from this pages, but the difference is that I now know that it didn't help a bit on the things that I have to face sooner or later; and that today there's not a cute girl beside me, like there was back then, who could help me figure out stuff and just share all those little silly things that make relationships and life so special.

I would like to brush all that off blaming it on my cold and my overdoses of the last days, but there are things in life that have to be faced and live with the consequences of those decisions. Being on a limbo, not knowing what to do, is perhaps the worst state where someone can be. That's why I got a self-help book: one little first step on my way to more sunny days in the future. If it doesn't work then it will be a shrink and a ton of happy pills to go with it, allowing me to live happily ever after; and if it there's no results, I'd perhaps go for a lobotomy.