a thick slice of self pity

I hate scratching these words in a pad like a caveman while my shiny space computer is only a few seconds stumble away, but it might as well be a three day hike. I’m ill. I have a flu/cold/dose of avian death. I don’t even have the energy to get better; I think three days of daytime television spouted out the devils shithole have sapped the will to live, my brain feels like mush.

Three days to do nothing but lie here and think, and all I really come up with is a really long straw so I don’t have to sit up too drink the tea I have bullied my Dad into making- that’s not true, normally I do bully my Dad for tea but today I pathetically begged my Dad for my beverage like a tea dependant begging thing, you see! I’m losing my ability to metaphor.

The warmth from the last sip of tea knocked some phlegm loose and I nearly died from the resultant choking fit.

I cant decide if I’m so cold that I ache, or that I ache so much I feel cold, even though I’m buried under a duvet and the central heating has been on so long I could probley grow a mango tree in my living room.

My soul feels cold.