Ouch :(
No. I'm not feeling any better, stupid body. Thank you *so* much to my wonderful Y for the hilarious guest entry he did for me yesterday - It was well appreciated, love :) xxxxx You're a wonderful fiance, you know that? :) I'm still not feeling up to doing a proper entry but my arms are aching so much from writing that I needed to coax myself away from Book 97. Going back years, I used to use my writing to get me through the pain but I lost that escape when the writers block struck. I have it back now though and it's proven to still be an effective way of pushing through it. I can curl up into a ball and scrunch the pen nib down into the paper as hard as possible when the waves of pain strike. A strange therapy, but it works and that's what matters.
However, I've ended up with some traditionally strange scribbles at the tops of the pages. Here are today's collection. I also realised that this technique inspires most of my more bizarre stories in fact, and usually stemmed from me writing on brainkillers....
"Prop yourself up on an eyebrow"
"Rapid beeping. Family Panicking."
"Handbag Land..... It's lovely!" (that was from Dick & Dom this morning!)
"BOGIES!" (again, that was from Dick & Dom)
"I can smell that sodding umbrella..."
"Johnny Vegas working at the Bureau...."
"I smell catfood. mmmmm...."
"Fly to the moon!"
"The mouse plans to sue."
And believe me, those are only a few of today's selection. If any more crop up, I shall let you know.
Further to Y's entry for me yesterday, I would like to add my own bit to the tale about a certain shop near to him and a certain shopkeeper with his lunches. You see, I have encountered this man, and the lunches that he tortures his customers with. In fact, I am cursed where that shop is concerned because every single time that I have gone to the shop with Y I have encountered the Casseroles From Hell.
It's as though the shopkeeper has a Miranda Radar. He has it going the whole time and as soon as it shows me heading in his direction he thinks, "Aha! She's coming in! better get the old lunch out!"
He's pretty generous, the way that he shares it with his shirt and half the counter every day. I don't know of many people who would willingly allow their clothes to consume more of it than he does. I'm not sure quite how grateful his shirts actually are, having said that. I mean, has he ever stopped to ask them if they like these casseroles? If he did they might turn around and say, "Ugh! Not this again! Get me some fries! Get me to a Burger King pronto!"
The very first time I encountered the Casserole from Hell, I though that perhaps a small animal had died in the shop. A retched scent had filled the place, quite unlike anything I'd ever smelt before. When Y and I headed to the counter a few minutes later, I could see that it wasn't an animal that had died, but a recipe which appeared to have gone horribly, horribly wrong. And he slurps. He slurps the casserole to try to increase its appeal. I can only hope that one day the Casserole Police will turn up, take pitty on the residents on Manchester and confiscate the dish.
I tend to hide behind Y on the rare occasions I am brave enough to accompany him to that shop. I fear the casserole may take a personal dislike to me and follow me home. That's the last thing I want - to open the door to an angry casserole which smells as though it could rot holes through metal.
Now I'm getting paranoid and I shall be checking the doostep when I've posted this. You never can be too careful.
Providing the casserole doesn't get me during the night, tomorrow Izzles will be featured in a picture-based entry. *sigh*.... I should never have let her watch Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back...... She's not been the same since.....
Ugh. Pass me a painkiller someone?
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