It’s the morning after the day before. I feel as if someone has punched me in my kidneys and filled my intestines with bleach. Despite going to bed relatively early I managed to wake up at fucking 5am and worry for three hours about nothing before going back to sleep for 10 mins, and getting up with the intention of going to work.
Yesterday was as if it didn’t exist, the entire fruits of my being, the only evidence I was actually on the planet I vomited into WordPress, I didn’t go out, I barely moved from one room to the other. Apart from a minor surge in my utility bills I may as well not have been here. It was dead dull.
I managed to eat twice, in both instances soup and dry white toast. I thought it best to ‘take in nourishment’ over ‘eating a meal’; I really didn’t fancy spending another 24 hours up to my eyeballs in sick and formless plop. The first incarnation of food was touch and go, it hit my pea sized stomach with a roar and for a moment I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d pushed my luck or not, an appetite appeared a few minutes after and I stuffed the rest down like one might see in one of those black and white war films when a POW gets food for the first time in a while. Obviously afterwards I felt sick again and my system slowly crunched into life. As I type this a solid turd is but mere fancy.
By the time I was ready for my second food incident I was actually quite hungry, I increased the quantity of bread which for some strange reason gave me a panic attack, fuck knows where that came from. I wasn’t too fussed though, I was beyond care and it couldn’t be bothered and slunk off.
The only thing of note about yesterday, aside from the turd reference, was that, despite drinking gallons of water and endless cups of tea, I didn’t actually do a wee wee through my front cock. I had my last dumpeesh at around 2 pm and that was the last time I visited the chod bin…
Anyway, back at work feeling ravaged.
Look, being ill has effected my music taste, ahem