So today marked day 6 off feeling like thrice run over shite. It’s annoying. I have a good feeling, however, that my post-work nap marked the high water mark of feeling like a sweaty bowl of nausea. So, because I’m bored I made some more nightmare fuel for you, my faithful readers:

Random poem from the basement pub:

Bubbles in a fish tank,
light cast on table
and her hands- the book-
spread and bent overlooking
spineless, submissive- I was watching
furtive through the back of my laptop
sitting on a table,
lighted from above,
red and reflecting
in a glass of beer
in between her and I

Ok, good night kids.