i have had, in the last several days, more free time than the past several months combined.  this is not by choice, however; my open schedule has been rather viciously thrust upon me in the form of a debilitating malady, apparently giv'n me as a malicious and belated birthday gift.

my penchant for the dramatic notwithstanding, i am an ideal patient, should one be present to provide adequate care.  however, should the traditional source be stricken with the same affliction (i.e., should the mrs. also find herself disposed), my patient status quickly falls to a less than desirable ranking.

whatever state i should find myself in, though, is not that which i find most contemptuous.  rather, it is the free time foisted upon my unwilling and incapable mush of a brain.  wasted, i tell you, wasted! there are few tendencies so depraved as the longish hours of anguish wherein my brain functions with the acumen of a drunken sod.  unable to rest, unable to focus (or to even sit up, for that matter), it is my own personal glimpse of hell.