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hating feeling being hurting

Thank you, thank you.

Thank you for the Christmas soup of germs that has left me with a hellspawn headcold.

Thank you for cold fingers of night air crawling through my jeans, for winter sunshine pricking tears from smarting eyes, for endless adverts for Macdonalds, nappy rash cream, road safety.

Thank you for the cruelty of cartoons, for unexpected explosions in the night, for tea and for cheese.

Thank you for the pain, and for the medecine that can't quite defeat it, and for work to take away energy and give money in return, to punch out the bread of the day and leave crusts to suck on.

Thank you for this cold that hurts the most when I bend over my art, when I try to work, when I crease my face as I try to think what goes here, and here, and here.

Thank you for families, families of relatives, families of friends. Thank you for their confused needs, for their understanding and lack of understanding, for their incomprehensible attitudes and inexplicable behaviour, thank you.

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Raving, useless, can't think, can't talk. Won't stop me going down the pub, though, and therefore won't stop me going to work tomorrow. That'll be fun. Today couldn't sit at the table to draw, bollocks, I've run an old strip I'd had on hold for a while, for this week's strip, didn't do what I should have, time's rotting in my hands, so little holiday to waste it being ill. Went out into the cold air, soothing cold air for my sore nose, eyes, mouth, ears, helps for a while then hurts even more, walking home with screaming sore eyes, fevery head. Sip lemsip, another bloody herbal tea, curl up, watch Tom and Jerry, buzzing head, with I could concentrate to do something, so boring not to be able to think straight, so dull.

[Paralell life: Wake up at 10, tidy my room as hangover fades to nothing. Sunshine, hot water, coffee, toasted muffins. Laze with Damian in front of the Tom and Jerry marathon/our respective art projects (he's doing a stick figure tarot, I'm finishing up last years diary and calendar pieces). Chat with toon-friend Andy R of Linus obscure fame about comics, toys, other stuff. Lunch like kings on stuff we found in the fridge. Go for a walk through winter wonderland in Trap Meadows, everything edged with frost and ice, mango-coloured sun plummeting through a winter sky. Come home and laze some more (Tom and Jerry marathon still going strong) before successfully trialling Damian's new mini fondue set (recipe: a cube of dried up emmental, grated, grind of black pepper, splash of Fino sherry), following that up with a more substantial pasta, before getting my weekly strip online, and reading my emails and livejournal. Finish up by heading down to the pub for the last celebration of New Year.]

Witness the difference between subjective views of experience.

God, isn't it time for more pills yet?