Only Fit for Tomato Soup

I am in a fog, in a fug of the common cold and the drugs that are meant to suppress it. My thoughts stray away from me like spiders’ webs gliding through the air. I sleep, I read, I dream. But did I brush my teeth did I lock the door did I remember the things I had to do?

I lied; this cold is not common. Usually I continue, soldier on, battle through but this one has felled me. I am dull and slow and sleepy. My focus has slithered off somewhere more stimulating. Weak, helpless, and all I can do is sleep, dream, read. Maybe, currently, this is what my mind requires.