I wonder if this is how Lil' Wayne feels.

After two days of lounging about my apartment living the dream (heavily medicating myself with Nyquil and watching Chappelles Show) I decided that my health and breathing in general was overrated, and left air conditioning.

I rarely get sick, but when I do it’s with a clusterfuck of symptons. Asthma kicks in, I can’t really walk, and my delusions of grandeur become that much more enigmatic. I’m also not very coherent, but when I heard there was a summer clearance sale at Loehman’s my jewdar told me to get the fuck out of bed.

There isn’t much to say about my shopping expenditure except that it was successful, so successful in fact the bag ripped as I was exiting the building. I don’t know if it was the lack of caffeine or food, or my cold medicine paired with the searing heat, but within seconds the fact that I had to clutch a ripped bag the entire walk home paled in comparison to that the street vendor in front of me sold corn. I was so excited, I bought seven ears of it.

In retrospect it was probably because whenever I think of corn, I think of my childhood and husking it on the deck with my brother. Then we would have a husk whipping competition to see who can get theirs the furthest into the woods, because my mother liked to think she ran some sort of JAP farm. I always lost, but clearly it hasn’t been keeping me up all night. Just most of it.

However, now I was hacking and coughing on the upper west side, clearly dehydrated and clutching multiple bags full of shoes and corn.

It was in this shining moment of clairvoyance that I realized I should probably go home as to avoid being seen. And that I didn't own a big enough bowl to boil water in.