[ WP ] You have been infested by nanomachines . Describe a normal day in your life .

It's seven-thirty in the morning. A Monday morning, despite the fact every morning since I had `` died'' has felt like a Monday morning. I guess it made this morning extra dreary. I wo n't pretend to be a morning person, and I was still half-asleep as I pulled down a box of Wheaties off the shelf, and filled my mug with pure energy itself: coffee. I'm kidding, I hate coffee. But since sugars would `` seriously hinder the ability for nanorobotic autoreproduction and autorepair functions'' - or so my doctors tell me - I've had to cross most energy drinks off of my list. Hence my newfound taste for coffee. Besides, coffee helps me swallow the iron, magnesium, molybdenum, and lithium supplements. 
 
 Grabbing the paper from my front steps, I tried hailing a cab, but resigned myself to taking the bus to this meeting with the press. It's a shame that I'm still meeting with journalists at all. Seriously, it's been three weeks. Who does n't know about this travesty of modern medicine I've become? I'd probably tell them the same old thing anyways: `` Yes, these nanobots were supposed to kill my lung tumor. No, these nanobots were not supposed to start destroying living tissue. Yes, I decided on a new type of nanobots that might remove old nanobots, and repair damaged tissue. No, I did n't want to risk permanent brain damage while doctors effectively killed me for a while to blast me with EMPs, or whatever else they could think of. No, I did n't expect that this combination of nanobots would steadily destroy my old organs, while creating new ones out of heavy metals with electrical impulses.'' That old bit, plus the new stuff my doctors shared yesterday. Something about curing this nanobot problem by letting it run its course, and hoping for the best. Or maybe it was the bit about the nanobots running their course on my circulatory system, and moving on to... whatever else I've got inside of me. I was a philosophy major, not a doctor. 
 
 I thought about this on the ride down to the terminal near the Mitchell Convention Centre, where I'm sure the reporters would put on the same half-interest-half-pitied reactions as they watch my problems grow. I'm thinking I'll stop somewhere for coffee after the press conference; press conferences piss me off, and wear me out. After that, I'm back to the hospital for a now-daily check up. At least it is n't hourly anymore; living on my own again makes me feel sort of normal, despite the fact that my heart was dissolved and replaced by my ( significantly ) lesser half. Despite the fact that I'm technically dead. 
 
 I'm a bit worried about the news today. Yesterday, the doctors told me that the nanobots were about done with my circulatory system - my blood vessels are almost completely made of nanobots, individually delivering proteins to the rest of me. I do n't know what the doctors will tell me today, whether or not the little bastards finally decided to chill. Whether or not they'll start replacing another system of mine. I hope it's my nervous system, there'd be a pretty funny irony if they replaced my brain after getting rid of its tumor. Again, I'm just kidding. I'm not feeling too great about losing my memories or vital functions to a `` miraculous'' cancer treatment gone wrong, or about the fact that the nanobots are done with my circulatory system. Put simply, I'm not feeling too great that I'm a real-life example of Theseus' Trireme. 
 
 After hearing the doctors' news I'll head home, shower, and probably cry myself to sleep over my fear of dying. At least that part of me will still be human. 
 
 EDIT: Spelling.
