Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Most of it's even true. Written by Scott Lee Williams
Monday, March 28, 2016
My sinuses are stuffed with hot cotton, simultaneously too dry and too full to function. I spray saline water into them from a small canister as the cat watches, until she gets bored and wanders off somewhere, but it doesn't really help.
My face feels puffy and warm, the skin too tight over elastic bones that stretch to accommodate the viscous fluid that now inhabits my skull.