La Marseillaise

I am sick. I am sick to death. I cannot function any more under these conditions. My apartment has too many contrasting features. There is cleanliness and filth. There are food smells mingling with bleach. The world outside is balmy, repulsive with the sweaty flatulence of summer. The apartment is cold, my feet are cold, everything is cold. My stomach is acidic. I've been drinking a lot of water, rootbeer, and apple cider. My steak was marinated in some sort of lime vinaigrette. There is too much acid and cold and heat and filth and cleanliness and...

...and I drank all of the soy milk.

I can no longer tolerate any music. I tried listening to the Beatles and I almost vomited. I almost vomited 2 minutes into Blue Jay Way. I cannot tolerate Blue Jay Way. It seems the only thing I can tolerate listening to is La Marseillaise, sung by Edith Piaf.

Pareidolia, apophenia, and synaesthesia trouble me because I don't have them.