I'm afraid there's not much I can do for your real body, as physically discomforting as this may be. Such are the beats dictated by the will of narrative flow — in this specific case, taken the form of a quite literal fickle beast — and we must dance to its ever-present tune.
It does sadden me that you can't stay here longer, as I would very much appreciate the company. You've always been a favorite of mine, you know. All of your friends are.
Ah, well. I suppose it can't be helped. It's about time you woke up.