I have fallen. Over the last six or so hours my condition has degenerated to the point that I’m a snivelling wreck in need of a serious Tissue Walrus, the likes of which I haven’t seen in a long time. I am wrestling with what all of this means, but there can be no denying what is evidently true.
I am ill.
For the first time since January of 2011 I feel bad enough that it’s irritating me. Sniffles and colds have occurred in the meantime, but this is the worst I’ve felt in a while.
Okay, so I’ve whined about headaches and whatever else – some recently – but shut up this is the kind of thing where I want to curl up in a ball and sniffle myself into a coma. A coma I wake from, of course, but a coma nonetheless.
I’m going to blame Andy’s spoon for this. Normally removed from the kitchen area after each use, our art ed has his own shiny spoon. I don’t know why, maybe he’s mental. Anyway, he left it in the kitchen today by mistake – an opportunity I jumped at.
As we all know correlation is causation, I think it’s perfectly fair – if not entirely correct – to blame this spoon for my current predicament.
A full inquiry will be launched into this, but we all like our justice swift these days, so I have decided: tomorrow I will summarily execute the spoon.
It will not be humane. It’s all the spoon deserves, as it has temporarily stripped me of my humanity. Stupid spoon.