MAYBE IT’S SWINE FLU

So I’m having a pretty weird day. Started out brilliant, got even better and now I’m stuck in bed with a thermometer rammed down my trap by a supposedly caring flat-mate. I think he’s trying to get me back for something. Don’t know what but my abused mouth sure feels like I’m being punished.

Then again it could be God’s way of making me pay attention for dissing him at lunch today. If the dude wasn’t all omnipotent, omnipresent and all that other omni shit he wouldn’t have heard me blaspheme. How else do you explain a perfectly healthy, chirpy woman in good health and humour feeling the way I do. One minute I’m prancing around all bright eyed and bushy tailed and the next I'm calling for the sick bucket.

My head hurts, my bones ache, my eyes can barely stay open and I’m so cold and tired. And no it’s not the onset of old age. My appetite’s gone and I’m a few seconds away from upchucking my Italian lunch. I feel awful.

So here’s the diss. I get into this whole crime and punishment argument with a friend and me and my big mouth start spouting the merits of capital punishment. I figure that you know we can’t really depend on the Almighty to bring about swift judgment. That whole judgement day thing doesn’t work fast enough to suit me and as much as Karma is a bitch she tends to take her time too hence the need to have the state step in and take over the retribution end of things. Only I’m not just thinking this; I’m saying it out loud. I’m actually accusing the big Kahuna of tardiness in dispensing his responsibilities. No way I was gonna get away with that.

Next thing I know, my flat mate’s leaning over me wielding a thermometer like a machete -well maybe not a machete (forgot to mention that I was feeling a little delirious too) – making all these sympathetic noises, but I can see through him. He’s probably praying that I don’t have swine flu and ruin his weekend away with his boys.

Yep. I Probably deserve to feel like shit.

On a different note, going ‘80s disco roller skating tomorrow at the 02. I’m probably gonna spend half the time on my ass and the other half on my face. I expect I shall come out of it bloodied, covered in cuts and bruises and will most probably fracture a limb or two and knowing my luck possibly break my tail bone. But you know what? I’ll have the time of my life.

Got neon pink legwarmers and tights for it. Still contemplating a pink polka dot head band and pink wrist bands. Left it a little too late to get a tutu though. Can’t wait.

P.S. Am I the only person who bursts into laughter every time Rasheed Young walks into the scene in Run’s House and his title appears right below his name: President: Run Athletics. Man, talk about incongruous.

Gets me every bloody time.

Gotta go.