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Dean Whitbread 2013

Dean Whitbread 2020

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Written on August 13, 2008, and categorized as Secret and Invisible.
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It’s 3am and the sweaty night has me thrown me awake, with itchy bug eyes and a sore throat. I am not well right now which is a drag as I have a lot to do this week. And yet, what I have to do next clearly is get well. Oh it’s only a virus – but then it is a virus, those devilish, evolving, clever-to-the-point-of-indestructible life forms which follow humans to our graves, and half the time put us into them.

The virus wouldn’t have got me but for the amount of work I’m doing which is putting a strain on me. Who am I kidding that the one is not connected to the other? I’m staggering around trying to find and take pain killers and drinking water and bizarrely feeling very hungry, even though I ate perfectly well yesterday and it’s the middle of the night.

It is those phrases like “pain in the neck” used to describe stress which give it away. My neck is actually very uncomfortable and sore right now. Thank God it’s not a real pain in the arse, which would be hemorrhoids.

Gah. Meh. Bah.

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