After three months, the head is actually fine. The lungs, though, are another story. It turns out that the whacking big dose of antibiotics cured the problem, although they'll probably end up killing the host. I've been scanned, irradiated, poked, prodded, blood letted and magnetized up the wazoo. And I'm still here. Obviously only the good die young. If that's the case, I should live forever. Or it'll seem like forever. I want to be around for a very long time- years and years left so I can really piss people off.
I'm back on form-I hope. People are dropping like flies from a very nasty flu bug that's going around, so I've been avoiding everyone as much as possible. And now I can start living again.
Everyone here is geared up for the scrounger marries parasite in a couple of weeks time. We not only are getting the local elections and all the crap about Brexit rammed down our throats-plus the news that there are shootings in this country-shootings, stabbings, acid attacks, things that now (according to the government) place London in front of New York when it comes to crime-we are also getting the scrounger marries parasite wedding rammed down our throats, too. My friend has the right idea: she's going off to Budapest that weekend, so she gets to avoid the whole circus. Me, I'll be in hiding.
I'll cover all that in my next post. This one is to let people know that I'm not dead yet. I told you: only the good die young. Allegedly. So I'm off to Starbucks -where else?- and I'll see you next time. Next time will be tomorrow.
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