Well, I've been having an occasional dream about a stark white room in a hospital of some sort located in Oxford. Was a young boy wearing a cream-yellow sweater dappled with brown spots on the collar. Named Jonathan Cambridge. The year '1873' came to mind when I thought about the date, but I was less concerned with such matters and more concerned with the overwhelming nausea and headache I had. My body felt sore, somewhat itchy in places - and I couldn't speak without having a rasp in my throat or a jolt of soreness. In that respect, when the nurse held my legs down so I wouldn't kick, and when the doctor held my shoulder, so to give me a shot of some sort, I could only squeak for them to let me go, leave me alone. They got the shot and left me sniffling on the bed I was laid, and I listened to them talk a while about how I wasn't getting any better, wasn't eating food and refused to so much as open my mouth for it. They mentioned I had something called scarlatina. I interrupted their conversation when my head start throbbing and stomach started hurting. Started yelling clear out that it hurt, and the doctor demanded someone go get me water before things muffled and all I could hear was my name now and again in the mess of nothingness and hard sobs of both fear and ache. In all seriousness, I'm a little skeptical of it because of the name 'Cambridge'. Positive the name was 'Jonathan Cambridge'. However, I know Cambridge is a university. I might just be thinking too much into the fact that Cambridge is a university town, but yegh. Despite that, there's an interesting parallel. I'm actually petrified of needles. Always have been, ever since I was a small kid. The same goes for hospitals. Hospitals make me uneasy. I feel anxious in them, nervous and stressed - usually just like to avoid them all together unless it's necessary for me to be inside of one. I've also always had an interest in British accents, and used to mimic a sort of odd construction of southern English, or at least that's what I think it was/is? I'll occasionally end up chirping the accent, and, to me, it sounds like an attempt at BBC-like English or what I think is called Queens' English? Always have used it, long before I even really knew what it sounded like for certain, and to this day I'm still infatuated with the accent. That's all I seem to remember, though. Just that little tidbit of being sick, nauseous, and miserable.