coming at choo

This cunting cold is still pissing about my barnet. Actually, I think it’s getting worse, my face is now in a perpetual state of leakage, every time I open my mouth a V8 cough charges out from my boiling chest firing coin sized goblets of gelatinous horror in random directions. Yesterday at work I barked out one of these fucking jellified bastards and it was only 2 minutes later I noticed it sitting, vibrating on my forearm. It was the size of a walnut. What I find most astonishing about them is their capacity as a lubricant; due to their inherent ability for arbitrary movement I have to check where I walk in case one of these evil goblets is lying in wait to act as a slippery cushion of hideousness between my foot and the floor.

I’m sick to the back teeth of existing in this sense of unreality as well. Certainly, having my ears cured last week was in a different league when it came to feeling a bit removed, this is more akin to having ones IQ halved. Either way I really have had enough, Christmas is peering over the fucking hill and like every other fucker with friends and family I have to put a certain degree of time and effort to procure the necessary offerings.

Suffering with this during the day is one thing, I’ll admit that an evening wine comes as a blessed relief but the most terrible aspect of the malaise is as one goes to sleep. The leaking nose, the very same proboscis that has gurgled and farted grey syrup out of your skull all day long suddenly decides to chemically alter the muckite in your nostrils to that of mucous cement. Whilst this maybe a positive thing in terms of laundry bills and/or personal dignity I feel that the whole breathing/air thing is a bit necessary. Call me fussy but there you are.

As ones airways are compromised already, ones jaw automatically opens to its maximum capacity to gulp in as much death preventing oxygen as possible. Subsequently when I woke this morning the inside of my mouth was drier than a Bedouin’s flip flop and my fucking tongue rattled within like an emaciated gibbon turd. There was so little moisture in my face that than the skin within had achieved a smooth gloss. It will be just like this when I’m dead I ruminated, extraordinarily unhappy with the human condition for forcing this terror into my system. I grabbed the water by the bedside and tentatively took a sip, I felt the skin in my mouth hiss the instant the water made contact, like sherbert fizzing on the tongue, which, along with my gums and cheeks, absorbed the water like a discarded washing up sponge. The taste was fucking awful. My nostrils melted, its dreadful-cemented content shoved up by my chest relinquished the overnight meconium via a Formula 1 tussis.

Great, time to fucking well get up and go to the bastard office.

Hooray.