My teeth hurt. I can feel myself dying. I wonder if it’s scurvy but know it’s not, just general malnutrition and a lazy malaise. I should do less nothing and more something, probably, that’s generally been the problem preached to me. I can feel the constriction in my lungs, though, vile little nodules growing rot and bile, creeping up to close my throat, at the back where the nasal sewers deposit themselves. I feel chalky and brittle, a set of crumbling functions in a bad routine. I don’t believe this will last but don’t know how to change it.