Blargh

I've been sick. I am a miserable bastard when I'm sick. Truthfully I'm a pretty miserable bastard when I'm in the best of health, but when I'm sick it's like the miserable bastardyness pours out of me in concentrated form. Generally speaking I am content to sit back and quietly disapprove of ignorance and stupidity from afar, however, when ill I can get downright stabby. This feeling of wanting to put a screwdriver through someones kneecap is thankfully mitigated by the fact that I am also a whiny little bitch when I'm sick. And that of course is why I am writing this, to be able to whine to you, Dear Reader, about my latest illness.

After about a day of sniffles and a slightly scratchy throat it hit me. The headache. A real stomach-churner too. The kind that sends you straight to bed with words like encephalitis and inoperable mass flitting through your brain. So to bed I went, with clogged sinuses and a sandpaper throat.

Waking up it felt like someone had placed an old car jack sideways in my mouth, right between the hinges of my jaw, and pumped that thing until the handle broke off. My teeth were like badly insulated wires buzzing in their sockets, bright sparks of pain arcing from one to the next. In my joints the sinew and membranes that normally reside there had been replaced with poorly constructed iron scaffolding, blazing hot and brittle.

Dehydration caused my eyelids to scrape across my eyes with every blink. I could hear mutinous mutterings from my kidneys regarding what they were viewing as poor treatment, I tried to explain to them that I had no control, once the water was down my throat it was up to stomach and intestines to sort out what went where. I shouldn't be held accountable for the fact that my stomach decided to reject all offered substances without even checking with the other organs.

Don't even get me started on the fact that my testicles felt as if they had been assaulted by a drunken bare knuckle boxer with a grudge against any unborn children I might be brewing.

Just then, as it seemingly cannot get worse, I hear my mother-in-law pull into the driveway. I guess spending two or three days in the fetal position isn't really such a bad way to pass the time.