Complaints

Head spinning, thoughts spinning. Any equilibrium there ever was has been on holiday this morning. I might be ill, not the kind of little pains you might suffer from, no, ill. Sick. This is bad, because I have never had any talent for being ill. The guilt caused by staying at home is tremendous, moaning people are a real pain in the bum, and I hate feeling sorry for myself (although, admittedly, that happens too often anyway). I’m now placing all my hope with the pain killer, the hot cup of tea and with my famous skill to exaggerate. Maybe I’m not ill at all; if I’m lucky it will just be my imagination