Short form: Got to work feeling rough as a badger's arsehole. Coughed up the cat, some fag-ends, and a small piece of Bronze Age pottery on the way. Not at all helped by hung-over angst that was spawned in nightmares that I don't remember and refuses to go away.
Writer's Bloc tonight (if I'm remembering the date right). If not, something else out of the flat and around people. I don't trust my brain alone right now. Too close to following some others and going pop. I can't have that, I have an archetype to fulfill.