sniffle
I'm still here, though barely.
Why is it that the least attractive annual period of my job coincides with the most virulent headcold known to human kind? Poring over illegible inanities goes very badly with a head that threatens to explode and spray the furniture with atomised snot.
Our flat - before I came back for a final trip to the Other Place - has been like an old people's home, full of shuffling, slippers and exchanges of symptoms over endless cups of tea. My oesophagus must be dark brown from tannin and self-pity.
Then there's the long-drawn-out and 19thc.-consumptive-style demise of my ancient laptop. RIP laptop. I wrote an awful lot of utter shite on you, and played a lot of solitaire (not Minesweeper, which I never managed to get the hang of...) And something (the Swasser Worm, written by some little bastard with an Oedipus complex and a mother in User Support?) is eating my work PC.
I owe everyone mail. My WIP has Sean sick with a Nameless Virus. Not sure whether life imitating art or vice versa.
Why is it that the least attractive annual period of my job coincides with the most virulent headcold known to human kind? Poring over illegible inanities goes very badly with a head that threatens to explode and spray the furniture with atomised snot.
Our flat - before I came back for a final trip to the Other Place - has been like an old people's home, full of shuffling, slippers and exchanges of symptoms over endless cups of tea. My oesophagus must be dark brown from tannin and self-pity.
Then there's the long-drawn-out and 19thc.-consumptive-style demise of my ancient laptop. RIP laptop. I wrote an awful lot of utter shite on you, and played a lot of solitaire (not Minesweeper, which I never managed to get the hang of...) And something (the Swasser Worm, written by some little bastard with an Oedipus complex and a mother in User Support?) is eating my work PC.
I owe everyone mail. My WIP has Sean sick with a Nameless Virus. Not sure whether life imitating art or vice versa.