tonsillitis

it's main weapon is that no one ever knows how to spell it until they've had it. this allows it to wonder around and no one even notices it, as it rattles pipes, boogies through the underground, shouting, laughing, smoking its way through the countryside, splashing towards me, ignorant and happy, and it staggers over, all disguised in sea water, and then suddenly...

suddenly it's made my entire life seem in perspective, but at the same time, it's completely wiped out any chance at hope for perspective. i know things would be different if i didn't have it - this week had potential to change the way i exist, dammit.

the poems below, they're probably not about what or who or whatever you thought they are. I don't know. Maybe you do know. I do. I think. Although, it's always open to interpretation, right? Like when I read 'In a Garden' and thought she was talking about her ex and it turned out she was on about god.

God? god? God? god?

goddess.

connotations much.

right now i measure my life by when i take pills. problem at the moment is that i took off my watch and now i cant be bothered to find it and put it on again because I'm just going to have to take it off again tomorrow.

I'm supposed to be in a concert tonight. I have to lead it. This isn't going to work. My tonsils are like footballs in colour and consistency. More like rotted and slightly burnt flesh in every other way.

Tomorrow is pretty dresses day, and standing up first to get the prize first, and not falling over stairs, and reading a story i wrote to everyone without rushing, loudly and clearly ignoring the pain, and singing, if i can manage it, and then playing a solo, and finding food by stealing it from everyone else, and then maybe relaxing, and then bright lights and photos and drunk idiots and dodgems and english english englishness.

I may have to crawl into my toenail and just stay there for a bit.