I hate going to doctors. I haven't been in a doctor's office in yonks. I'm talking about normal GP's here. In fact, I'd rather go to a hospital than a doctor, because the possibility of some anaesthesic is there. The true sleep of the dead. Do I mention death a lot? It seems so.
So it's been just more than ten days since the Swazisquitoes sucked me dry. My throat's been sore for three days now. My neck stiff for two days. I've been writing it off as the result of an apathetic lifestyle. But last night I woke up at 3:03 a.m. in the most horrible of hot-cold-hot-cold sweats, with the words "malaria.. malaria.." drifting around in my confused dreams.
I had those frustrating 'stuck in a particular loop' dreams, where I kept waking up on my futon, to discover that my house was broken into/ there were people parked in a dodgy car outside my house, me screaming and smashing windows to frighten them away/ my floors were smeared with blood/ wild animals were walking around on the other side of my mosquito net. Every dream snippet ended in cold fear, and I was placed right back on square 1, back on my futon, to discover the next horrible thing, never knowing whether I was awake or dreaming.
So after an eventful restless night, I got up and cleared away the remains of a wine binge with local friends, my home smelling of old cigarettes and mango peels. I remember devouring a mango just before passing out, believing that it mattered. Fibre.. must have.. fibre...
So I booked myself an appointment with a local doctor (already I don't trust him). If they're going to draw my blood, I think they should sommer test for HIV as well. I did the nerve-wrecking test at the start of my career in celibacy, but you can never be too sure.
See what all those AIDS campaigns are doing to me?
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