Chicken Soup

Drugs are good, but I woke up knowing absolutely that chicken soup is what I need. Was there any stock in the freezer, goddamn it, no!

I floated into sleep last night, hacking and rasping, but on a cloud of Nytol and Ibuprofen. I drifted in and out watching Pink Planet. Gay men and women and the former mayor of Vancouver, Larry Campbell, were telling us what a great city Vancouver was for gay tourism. We wandered down Davie Street with them, Denham Street, Commercial Drive.
Then I was back in England for a short visit, but in that time I had to re-take my British driving test. I seemed to now be married to Hugh Laurie who insisted on wearing a dress and calling me 'Old Girl'.
'Don't worry old girl, ' he said, 'you'll pass without any problem.'
My son Austen was trying to get money from the Church for Mayhem. I received a text from him saying that they had declined.
Delirium.

I woke up and it was three o'clock. Kevin wasn't in bed, I could hear him in the bathroom and I hoped it really was him and not Hugh Laurie wearing a nightie.

I woke again at eight and went downstairs in search of chicken stock. Now I realised the sofa was talking to me. It was making a noise like an imp coming down a zipline. I opened the blinds to see if it were something outside, but there was nothing. I sat down on the sofa and it spoke to me again, but I realised it was just Kevin's i-book.

Oh boy do I need that chicken soup. I'd also better watch those back episodes of House to get the spectre of Hugh Laurie in a dress out of my head.
Melissa Etheridge is also haunting me, she sings to me constantly since yesterday when she woke me as the random selection on the alarm. It would be scary to see her in a dress too.