12:40 p.m., 24.10.03
Sick n Tired.

This sucks.

I'm crook, me guts are churning and percolating like a coffee machine. I want to go to bed and hide under a warm doona.

And I fucking could too, cause my office is now in my ginormous bedroom, and a freshly made bed (sadly Nous-free) is less than 3 metres from me.

But I've got a meeting this arvo with a prospective new client, and I've got to look professional. And professionals don't have bed-head.

*big gurgly cramp*

Balls.

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