Let us drink, gentlemen. Let us drink, till we roll under the table in VOMIT and oblivion.

I have not blogged in TWO DAYS!

This must be some sort of terrible, terrible record.

Also, I think that my snail is dead. I have not given it much attention. And theres a nasty smell coming from its jar. I feel that the lettuce has gone off. Its black, and there's this random brown shit pooling in the bottom.

Not. Nice. At all.

Anyway. Here's a runthrough of the past two days:



FRIDAY

(For this, imagine it appearing, in white, on a black screen, with a loud CLANGING sound, a la The Shining. Cheers, babe)



Well, I woke up feeling like shit and I didn't feel much better throughout the rest of the day. You know the symptoms. Headache. Dizzyness. Stomach feeling like its gonna throw its contents out of the mouth at ANY second. Bleeding of the eyeballs. Stigmata. Tiredness. Sleepyness. Skin melting off. The usual.

I had the chance to skip school... my mum even asked me if I wanted to skip. Why did I say 'I'm ok?' I quite plainly wasn't. WHAT KIND OF FREAK AM I?

Anyway, I bravely soldiered through, feeling progressively worse and worse, and getting more and more pissed off at the rest of the class who seemed to find it a good idea to TALK, BREATHE, or MOVE near to me, which was making me dizzy. Finally, I thought fuckit, and went to the nurse. Her remedy? Two aspirins. She didn't even give me any fucking water, for chrissake.

After soldiering through maths, in which BIBBY KEPT FARTING EVERY 40 SECONDS, I returned to the nurse, complaining of total illness. Her response?

"Just sit here quietly until you feel better."

Well, thanks for that medical GEM. Thank God she doesn't work in ER. Can you imagine?



"Doctor, my daughter has caught her finger in this industrial press and..."

"Never mind. Here's a lollypop."

"But she's bleeding to death..."

"It's strawberry flavour."



Grrr. Anyway, after sitting there for about ten minutes, I got up and returned to Art. Actually, I felt immediately worse as soon as I left the room and started moving. So worse, that after fifteen minute of Art (MISS, I OBVIOUSLY FEEL TERRIBLY ILL AND DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE SODDING GOLDEN SECTION) I just thought 'fuckit' and left to go to the nurse AGAIN. See what gems she had for me now. Perhaps I could stop the nausea by standing on my head?

Anyway, she wasn't in, and I projectile vomited white shit all over the door to the bathroom. Three seconds away from the toilet. Yeah, thanks a LOT, God. Nice sense of humour there. Well, I guess it wasn't the best idea to eat a tuna-mayonaise sarnie for lunch but, yeah. Hmm. Anyway, blazer, shirt, tie, SHOES covered in fucking half digested tuna, I wander around until I found the nurse. Here was the conversation:



"Miss, I've been sick."

"Been sick, or feel sick?"

"Uh, been sick."

"Go to the medical room."



Which I did. And she didn't show up. I waited for 25 minutes, before phoning mi madre and going home. Seriously, I could actually have been heamorraging in there. My skin could have been melting off. I could have been kneecapped by the IRA. I COULD HAVE BEEN EATEN BY FUCKING ANTS IN THE TIME IT TOOK HER TO NOT ARRIVE.

Screwit.



And in other news, actually, you don't care.



SATURDAY

I woke up, felt a bit better, did a rowing race, felt much worse, waited around for about 3 hours, found out that I did shit, and went home. Thats, uh, pretty much it.



Kill the zombies with: The tuna/mayonaise sandwiches served up at my school. Sodding wanker sandwiches.



(EDIT: For all those who complained about the appalling use of Maths in my previous post, I have several points for you.

1: Get a life.

2: It was a deliberate mistake to flush out the losers who check out the mathematics on an internet blog. *Looks shifty* Yeah, that's what it was... a deliberate mistake. *Ahem*

3: I GOT 36% IN CORE MATHS AS. I MEAN, THATS TOTALLY SHIT. ITS THE SAME AS FUCKING... ROXXXAY. AND CASSIE. AND THEY BOTH LOVE MCFLY. AND DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT SOMEONE THIS GOOD AT ENGLISH GIVES A RAT'S ARSE ABOUT MATHS? AM I GOING TO BECOME AN ACCOUNTANT? NO, I'M NOT. SO I DON'T CARE, REALLY. VIVA NEXT YEAR, WHEN I CAN DROP MATHS, AND GO ONTO SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING. LIKE A STIMULATING CAREER IN WATCHING WALLS COVERED IN PAINT DRY. HAH.

4: Yeah.)