Bleah

[gothwalk]

Down with the second day of what I thought was a relatively mild dose of flu, or some other winter bug. I was doing fine last night, aches and pains gone, head not sore, fully working out the pleasures of getting to work on a nice cold morning this morning. I woke this morning, staggered out of bed protesting to myself "it's because you've just woken up", got as far as reading mail and doing dishes, and realised that no, it wasn't. The aches and pains are back - my fingers ache, my head is sore and a bit spinny, and I have developed the fine art of staring into space between sentences, indeed between thoughts, to about three minutes. Sinuses are starting to block up as well. I hates being sick; it takes time that could be good because I'm at home, and turns it into nothing, and it eats my evenings as well. Not to mention the basic unwellness.

I'm concentrating all the whinging about it into one burst here, so that people can bear to be around me; there's nothing worse than a sick bloke for general miserableness. So: whinge whinge, whine whine, poor me, bleah, whinge, whine.

There.