Ice ice baby

Recently, I’ve used the phrase ‘it’d be good to get sick, just so I wouldn’t have to work’ quite a lot. I am now officially retracting that statement. I feel awful. I feel sick and restless and bored and awful. I have managed to waste a small forest’s worth of tissues. My head, though oddly round, really isn’t that big. Unless, of course, my brain has liquefied and is leaking out. I may have to explore that option – it seems very likely right now. [Has anyone else gone all Dali here?] I am having serious fever weirdness.
I have spent the day on the couch doing a bit of this a bit of that a bit of nothing really at all. I have spent time on the couch icing my head. Oh ice. Ohhh ice. That seems so good I might go back to doing it. My brain will soon have its own fever – it can be the twin fever of my body, they can keep each other company.
Daytime tv could really do with being better. So could night time tv. Actually, tv could really do with being better – Wife Swap would be better if it was pornographic. Way better.
I phoned my boss this morning, when, ironically, I was feeling much better than I am now, to say that I wouldn’t be in today and probably not tomorrow but I’d let her know. I haven’t let her know yet. She must have realised I was ill because it was the longest and most informative conversation that we’ve had in quite a while. That was how I knew I was sicker than I’d thought. She made the usual commentary of that’s-okay-love-get-a-medical-certificate. They’re obsessive aren’t they? I already told her that I had a cold. I wonder if the doctor will contradict me. No, you have no cold! You have clearly just broken a very small bone in your left hand! Hypochondriac! [Ohhh ice.]
What really annoys me is that I’ve been getting sick for a week and it’s mostly due the amount of times I’ve been soaked to the skin on the way to or from work. Getting soaked and frozen in one night was fun. It was funner when three days later it was hot as hell. I have to say – fuck global warming, it makes you sick. That’d make a great campaign slogan. Yeah.

Does anyone have a bath full of ice that I could borrow for a day or two? And perhaps some laudanum that I could have? I’d really appreciate it.

I just googled ‘laudanum’ for fun and/or stockists – the #1 site to come up relate some guff about the romantic poets ‘Lord Byron, Shelly [sic] and others’. The misspelling has, in fact, made me feel siccer. Clearly, NYC Goths are tragic and stupid – don’t take this as a compliment, retards. I have some real issues with that.


Addendum – Wikipedia does it too! ‘Mary Shelly’ apparently wrote this novel called Frankenstein – presumably not to be confused with Mary Shelley’s novel of the same name. I wonder if Mary Shelly was married to that poet guy that the Goths mention?

Oh for Christ’s sake, laudanum me.