I'm sitting on my couch, under a duvet at seven on a Saturday night, my friends are either out for the night having fun or away for the weekend diving. Either way, I hate them all for not suffering here with me.
Suffering?
Like starving children in Africa?
No, no. Much worse.
There are all sorts of fluids streaming from the various orifices in my head, none of them natural, all of them sticky.
Yuk! I'm a mess.
Aside from the fact that I am heart-achingly lonely, I am glad there is no one around to see me like this.
I'm on the sixth movie of the day, and the second roll of toilet paper, which is being used as a cheap substitute for soft, sensitive nose tissues because I am too sick to leave the house.
Oh woe is me!
I have to go now, all this self pity is hard work and I've just sneezed on the keyboard...
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