August 31st, 2005



My lungs are trying to escape again, bringing up hacking great globs of shit that's probably radioactive. And has knives sticking out of it. Of course, this did have to hit over the first set of days that I have to be in early (6:30 as opposed to 9:00). I've noticed a correlation: Do I need to take sick-days when I can't because of some bizarre coincidence, or does the presence of necessary work make my body rebel? Probably the former, the latter is too solipsistic.

Sleep is a joke right now. Didn't get any last night either, just lay there in bed watching the dreams in the supra-exhausted way I used to in Germany. Only way I could convince myself to sleep with the ulcer playing up, but even that didn't work last night. First time in ages I can remember my dreams. Something involving all manner of giant robots on a super-sized aircraft or spacecraft or something, typical boy-meets-girl, boy-flirts-with-girl, giant-robot-blows-girl's-head-off-before-boy-says-anything-meaningful fare. Strange camera angles as well, the death scene especially. Then some truly random crap that ghosts in and out, that I remembered until climbing in the taxi at the crack of sparrowshit. The taxi driver let me smoke in there, because he was gasping for one as well. Not the best for my lungs, but fuckit. Nicotine is needed if I'm to pretend to be alive.

Stupid thing is, planning this entry over under-cooked chips and a burger in the restaurant here, it built itself. Layer upon layer of prose that stopped being stream of consciousness and started being pure genius, beautiful description that I will never remember before I have to click the damn post button. And it's gone, like one of those dreams.

So. Two nights without any actual sleep. I may be in the pub later. If you see me and I fall over on to the table, you know why.
  • Current Music
    My Lungs - Hideous coughing
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