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Thursday, April 17, 2003
The subtle joys of clarity. Have spent the last week trying to recover my health and get into work to earn a living and maintain my client base. So I've been hobbling into various offices and attempting to present a professional demeanour in the face of stray rises in temperature, occaisional shivers and frequent moments of staring into space wondering where the hell I was. Clients seem to be happy, though, they are offering me more work. I just wish I didn't have to spend my days crawing out of bed, stumbling into work, wincing my way home, falling asleep on the sofa and then making my way to bed to get some proper rest.
What a lovely little exercise in self-pity this exercise in writing is turning into. Feel free to slap me at any point.
(And on that happy confluence of hypochondria and masochism, I think my freshly laundered bedclothes are calling to me. Oh! The one thing that pneumonia has to recommend it is that you seriously have to keep on washing the sweat out of your sheets and duvet. I probably carry the faint scent of detergent and fabric conditioner with me wherever I go these days. Saves on after shave, I suppose.)
12:08 AM
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