Slog

Calm thyself sigh9, genius doesn't just spring forth from the lyrical loins, it germinates, gestates, like an elephant's child, for 21 months! So I've got a bit of time. More to the point I was horribly brought down yesterday, by an act of extreme fulishness on my apart. As a consequence of one too many lager/G n' T interfaces on Monday night, I awoke at about four with both a raging thirst and a vesuvian headache. Downing three anadin with a litre of water I retired back to my recovery pit to see out the night. On waking in the morning, I was utterly exhausted and as I zombied my way around the flat, the thort sparked in the very dim recesses of my mind, that I didn't actually have any anadin. Sick suspicion became hideous fact when i went to my bedside table and discovered three gaping holes in the sheet of nytol. This shit doesn't really work, instead, it mongs you out completely so you become an extra in Awakenings, catatonic body, active mind, frantically trying to coordinate the crunchy nut into the bowl, the spoon to lifeless lips and stop yourself sliding under the water in the bath to take away the feeling of endless torpor. The day was a right-off, I felt like I was typing with mittens on, and all conversation was reduced to primal grunting and jabbing hand gestures, Greystoke stylee. The effects eventually wore off mid-afternoon, but the day was lost and i went home feeling like I'd come through some hideous trauma (Then again, work often feels like that)

So allow me a little grace sigh9, I'm getting there, sloooowwwly.

B