Stages of grief

  This is like watching the various stages of emotional adjustment to a trauma like a bereavement or a driving ban, (those words still haunt me). Though I slept amazingly last night for the first time since Monday, I still feel like a turd in a bucket. I'm also enjoying the fun that comes along with a cough that reminds me ceaselessly that my lungs are as useful as a moth eaten accordion that has been soaked in the rotting corpses of a thousand oysters.

  I believe I'm in the, 'I couldn't give less of a fuck if I tried and had corporate sponsorship' phase of the process. There's enough of an appetite to get a bit of food in me, but as you can see below, I'm quite happy to capitalise on the magical restorative properties of choccie digestives dunked in endless cups of tea. Fortunately, as you can tell, I've not lost an ounce of my legendary good humour and chipper attitude. (Oh look, sarcasm. -Ed.).

Just what the doctor ordered.

  Anyway, thanks for popping by again. Writing to you is the only thing I can focus on at the moment, and it's nice to have the company. With any luck you're well and eating properly, even if the weather is shit at the moment.

Awkward pause...

I'll not keep you any longer though, it's Saturday night so I know you'll have plans. I'll see you again tomorrow, who knows what state I'll be in. 

Kirk out

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