The week that wasnt to be

I don't remember the last time I have been this ill. Yes, I know I've been down with the flu countless times since March, but nothing as bad as this bout. This time, I had the whole package - sneezy nose, fever, headaches, and joint pains. I would periodically let out screams of pain, frequently crumple up eucalyptus-laced tissues, and occassionally miss my meals. I've been basically spending hours and hours in bed, while life passes by.

Sipping my favourite soy chai latte, I gaze out to sea. Waves are crushing against the rocks, letting out a mighty roar. Eagles soaring up above, wings outstretched. The sky is cloudless, pastel blue. In one corner of the restaurant is a flower stand filled with bird of paradise and gerberas. There is something mysterious about the whole flower arrangement, but the sound of jazzy Michael Buble sweeps me away into a whole new dimension. Champagne in my glass is bubble-sizzling away. Scented candles in the middle of the table are melting gracefully. The chocolate fountain is alive with sticks of fresh strawberries waiting to be dipped. Mini quiches and custard egg tarts look glorious, the smell of pastry is just heavenly.

The drugs are making me delusional.