Delirious With Fever

All I remember is being face down on the ground, shaking and sweating. The walls began to bend into a damply colored dome of suffocation. My earlier delusions of zombies walking outside my window continued to shake me as I tried to remember why I left bed in the first place.

Why did I leave bed in the first place?
Bathroom?
I haven’t eaten in like, 2 weeks and the last water I drank was at least a day ago.

That can’t be right, what time is it. 
Best estimation, 5pm-10pm on either Tuesday or Thursday. 

This carpet is hideous.

Where the hell are my roommates, one of them should have tripped over me by now.
This is where I’m going to die.
Are those supposed to be flowers? Seriously carpet, get it together.
Is it Wednesday?
Call 911.
Okay Mr.Bill Gates, just give the ambulance driver a ruby out of your treasure box. Afford calling an ambulance, my lord.
Drive?
...If that’s all you can think of just study the carpet until you die.
What do you call that color? Pink after death? Rotting peach? Was it supposed to be this color or did the manufacturer use the wrong dye?
For fucks sake, just get to the phone.
Did I leave bed to escape the zombies? That was dumb.
...If you’re interested the phone is on the floor about 5 feet away.
I’ll never make it.
Well the carpet continues to exist.
It’s not even comfortable, and I don’t think these are supposed to be flowers. It’s just a weird, terrible design.
Just get to the phone.
And closer to the zombies?
We’re better off figuring out what time it is.
I’m landing on 2am on Monday.
...
...

My phone is in my hand. This is good. Where am I. Staring at the floor? How did I get here? Odd place to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Oh god I’m so sick, call an ambulance now.
Wait, I don’t have a chest of rubies to fund an ambulance ride.
Roommates are home, call them.
Call someone in my own house? Just seems wrong.
Shouting impossible, throat mostly closed. Moving too hard. Gotta call someone.
Call dad.
 “So sick, can you take me to the hospital please?”.
Even when delirious with fever, my dad taught me manners, dammit.
Standing too hard, get down stairs a different way.
Roommates are watching me roll slowly down the stairs. Probably could’ve just asked them to take me to hospital.
They’re staring at me like I’m crazy. Good thing I called dad.
Oh god what am I wearing.
They’re looking at me like I’m diseased.
Accurate.
Why do I feel there are zombies outside?
...
...
Ahhhhhh, so bright. A nurse, what the hell is happening.
Oh right, so sick.
How did I get here?
Dad
Where is he now?
Probably out in the waiting room because you’re an adult.
Oh...right.
“Huh? Yes, pain. hurts to talk...and swallow...and breath.”
I have a high fever and an almost completely swollen throat you say?
“argh”
They’re going to give me painkillers and an IV and a bed. that sounds fantastic.
...
...
Okay, so a doctor is looking at me, because...
oh right.
Needle in my arm!
Oh right the IV must have happened.
I’m definitely wearing my weirdest sweat pants with my oldest hoodie.
Why does this ER have a weird green colored motif happening? Like a child ate a bunch of sea foam green crayons, then vomited them all over some olives.
Strep test came back positive, seems I have scarlet fever.
Oh goodie, please either kill or medicate me now.
They chose option medication. My second choice.
whooo, that’s the strong stuff.
...
...
Doctor is looking at me weird.
Is it because my sweatpants have holes in them? Or just because they’re covered with Spongebob Squarepants doing various dance poses?
Am I hungry? I have no idea. I’ll have to do some research.
Last time I ate? I managed to sip some soup on Sunday afternoon, then my throat was too sore to eat anything that night.    
Alright, according to my research my head is floating on a string and my arms have disappeared.
Do I often go this long without eating?
That depends. Entirely. On what day it is.
I didn’t know a brow could furrow so.
oooo, more pain killers...
...
...
Hmmm, what time is it.
Oh shit, I’m in the hospital.
That’s right. Holy crap was I out of it. Man, I still don’t feel good.  How long have I been sick now? Let’s see I called into work on Saturday, spent all day in bed on Monday, then...umm, did zombies happen? Maybe they were easier to stop than movies made it seem.
Maybe they were just repulsed by this shade of green.
Uh oh, feeling woozy.
...
...
Who’s this bitch now.
A social worker? Why?
What is this place. It’s making me hate the color green.
No, I’m not homeless.
The doctor thought I was homeless?
So I must be in a hospital. Good, seems I’m dangerously ill.
A place to sleep?
My apartment. Where I live.
Why do they think I’m homeless? This outfit can’t be helping.
Where do I usually sleep?
Different places around town, I dunno, I don’t remember all of them. Frankly I don’t see how my sex life is any of your business.
Yes, I have an apartment.
Look, I realize that last thing sounded a little homeless-y, but I’m just slutty. And so sick. Just a sick slut.
No, with scarlet fever, not from having sex for shelter.
Ugh, whatever, so tired...
...
...
Left foot.
Right foot.
Dad is here. Wherever that is.
Ah hospital. I feel so tired.
Get into the truck.
...
...
Ah home, yay. Get to bed.
Can’t make it.
Aw crap, did I tell them I was allergic to penicillin.
...
...
What hideous carpet.