At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Friday, June 02, 2017

BUT I HAD PLANS!

This blogger doesn't do sick very well. Other people get to swan around pale and moaning, being very theatrical about their ailments -- and yes perhaps I could swallow a few spoonfuls of chicken soup / Scotch Whisky / a tiny little bon bon -- but I tend to hide my physical state.
Me? Oh I am all-right! Couldn't feel better.

Yeah, no. By the time work ended yesterday I had a sore-throat, muscle-aches, a throbbing head, and was ready to vomit. The bus-ride back was surreal, and after a bit of putzing around I retired to my cluttered futon, to wake up on average every hour or so for painful urination as my kidneys fought to deal with the bug.

I am fairly certain my apartment mate didn't notice my condition.

Because really, I am fine!



Today is a regularly scheduled day off. And, naturally, I am immensely peeved that I have to suffer the flu on my own time. If a man has got to feel miserable, it is better by far to do so at work. I have things to do, dammit, and I was looking forward to lunch followed by a good smoke. Perhaps tomato porkchop over rice, or baked Portuguese chicken rice. A cup of hot milk-tea. Then a bowl of either Dunhill's Nightcap, for the feistiness, or Samuel Gawith's Saint James Flake, for a profoundly dreamy badger-like state of mind at twilight.

Puttering around the alleyways of Chinatown feeling on top of the world, and full of beans. Instead of achy, without energy, dreading the day, and trying to fade into the brickwork.



Why is the futon cluttered? Simple. There is enough room for two people, but only one person uses it, wherefore the side near the window has a mound of books, magazines, correspondence I haven't opened, small boxes, a pile of clean laundry, and several stuffed animals.
Yes, I should clean it up. But why bother?


I know where my most frequently used dictionaries are.
As well as mood-inducing reading material.
And there's only me there.
It's fine.




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