Lasagna is an objective good

I made about a metric ton of lasagna on Wednesday night for no good reason, and boy are my cold, leftover vittles tasty.

I feel numb.

My jade plant, in kitschy faux-Ming vase, just fell off the window ledge. The pot broke. I don't feel well enough to sweep up the dirt.

I've been dizzy all day.

My phone is ringing. It's my mother and I won't answer it. I don't want to answer any calls. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to listen to weeks-old voicemails, or see the annoying message notification on my phone, or really do anything but suck on a lime in between shoveling pasta into my gullet.

What do I do now?