My friend, my toilet
Days where your toilet is your best friend, are not the best days. They can scarcely be considered days at all.
Last night everytime M stirred in bed, every twitch, sent a ripple across the mattress and a wave of nausea and pain would flood through me, and I'd hiss evilly "Keep still!" On pain of death.
Poor sod.
I feel better now, although all washed-out, heavy and bilious. At least the pain has gone.
Bleurgh.
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