Being thirsty has gone from the slush pile of my to-do list to the number one item in flashing neon light.
I wake with a white paste upon my lips, both of them withered to crinkled versions of what they should be. The corners of my mouth ache with my room swallowing yawn, the skin made less flexible by dryness. Whatever happened last night has taken every ounce of fluid my body could spare and then some I couldn't.
Who'd think you could be so thirsty in the rain? What I need is a long cool draught of water, what I get is the drops on my lips, a little more if I open my mouth. The first thing I'm doing after taking my shoes off is getting a drink, then another.
My throat is dry and sore; every lungful of hot hair robs more water from my body. There is a pain at the back of my head that threatens to grow into a powerful migraine, a sure sign that dehydration isn't far away. It I had a litre of water right now I'd drain the whole thing, but as it is I have none and its a long walk home to get some.
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