Ill and fucked off…

Gah I have a headache, I’d go as far as to say I have a pounding headache, it hurts, and those inconsiderate wankers on the council estate near my house have decided to blow up what is easily heading for a couple of hundred quid’s worth of fireworks. They’re letting off concussion mortars and some serious display blasts, where have they got the money for that and there sky TV… something doesn’t add up, it really doesn’t.

I’m falling apart, It’s stress, worry, and anger – oh and I can’t go to see my GP for 3 weeks, by which time I’ll be well again, so it’s not even worth my time booking an appointment, and as for those NHS walk in centres, no thank you, if I wanted to go sit in a waiting room surrounded by immigrants smelling of there own piss trying to rip of the receptionist for a methadone hit – well I’d go to a NHS walk in centre.

Apart from the pounding headache (which isn’t being helped by the inconsiderate wankers with the fireworks) I’ve got a stomach doing back-flips for no apparent reason, I don’t know whether it’s telling me that I need to eat (which I can’t be bothered to do) or whether I’m not well, I’d go for a touch of both. Add to that the recurring sickness, I’ve had that since just before I moved out of Oval, and it’s never gone away properly, every morning is the same, stomach cramps, just the thought of anything solid is enough to make my stomach do somersaults any time before 10.30am. I just want someone to cuddle at the moment, but the one I want isn’t here. I’m expecting the house to burn down next, that’d just make my day.

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