You know that step in mummification, where they ram a hook up the mummy's nose and whisk the brain around until it drips out through the nose?

This is how I have been feeling for the past few days.

But I'm doing betterish now, although still have an evil cough and my head feels like stale fairy floss.

The illness has led to some crazier than usual thoughts. I saw a long strand of hair stuck in a spiderweb outside our kitchen window, and realised that if my dad was a serial murderer, he could totally fool everyone.

Also, when I die I want to be cremated. And then have some of my ashes put in a giant chocolate cake, and then have the cake served to people at my funeral.

And then after everyone has taken a good few bites someone can reveal my practical joke, and I can laugh from beyond, and make bad puns like "Now I really do live on in them," to whoever I'm sharing the afterlife with, if there is such a thing.

I don't particularly believe in the afterlife at all, though I would love there to be some kind of afterparty deal. Like a good few hours where I can party with the already dear departed before I just evaporate. Have a drink with Jebus, rock out with Elvis, Kurt Cobain, and John Lennon, that kinda thing.

I'm still sick, obviously.

<< >>