Thursday is much less of a dick than Wednesday was. In fact, Thursday and I are getting along so well that Wednesday has been muttering “Huh, well if you like each other so much why don’t you just get married?” in an embittered tone between thin, thin lips.
Sunshine is happening. From the sky, not out of my arse; it’s not THAT good a day. Free cake has happened. From a cafe, not from the sky; skycake is very rare phenomenon, generally requiring hallucinogens or an enraged Mary Berry blowing up rows of tents.
I’m still not too well. Time for a conversation with the doctor to check whether I’ve just got the stinky, hacking coldy cough crap many of my friends seem to have or whether I’m truly in a flare-up with my stupid respiratory stuff and about to die again.
But sleep is a friend of mine. Eating is also a friend, one that is happy to pop around when I’m not sleeping. And I’m not bored writing about this kind of domestic tedium no matter how dull it is for you to read. So I win. Can I have my prize in cash, please?