Do you wake up in nervous sweats?
Where the sweat has soaked your pillow, and dried out to a gooey paste, making your face adhere to the pillow like glue when you wake up in the morning?
Where the sweat is dry and the dries are sweaty and your sweaty armpits are sticky like honey and your honey is dry like a dead horse in the hot summer at high noon?
Where the pillows are no longer fluffy but instead quite gruffy and you wake with a hunger but no not for what yet are hungry for nothing but nothing will satisfy?
Where you’re satisfied with dissatisfaction and dissatisfied with satisfaction and you wake tired and you’re tired when you sleep?
Where your sheets are all over the floor while your bed’s on the ceiling and you’re floating in the closet and wondering what’s going on?
Where your room’s not a room but lays on a broom and the broom makes your room and fills it with gloom?
Where you dread the mid-morning and mid-morning dreads you, while all winter long, you slumber in the warmth of the evening sun and freeze in the summer’s morning sunrise?
Where the milk is not milky and the tea is all silky, where the coffee is flowery and the flowers are coffee-y?
Where the toast is a roast and the roast is a loaf of bread and it all tastes like hot mustard on a salad of grains?
Where the blood never boils but the boils are bloody and the mood is sincere but the sincerity seems moody?
If this has happened to you, if this happens to you, if you think it could happen to you or even if it’s never happened to you but you think it could, then you may suffer from thermonervosity sclerosisticism.
Fear not, however, as thermonervosity sclerosisticism with a few short visits to the public park where the parking is public but the public has parked down by the river which is up from a sliver, where everyone eats their curds and whey.
So, hurry now, and cure yourself or yourself may never be cured of thermonervosity sclerosisticism.
