Saturday, Mar. 01, 2003 6:07 p.m.
Ahh! I am a happy little protosimian today.
On balance I probably should not be, since it is freezing cold and raining, and more to the point I�m off work with an undefined illness which is a little bit worse than a cold, but not quite as bad as �flu.
But I am. Deeply, profoundly happy.
And it�s all down to Her.
She is my dearest, my one true love, my Mephit, and you can read all about Her on Her page, which She�s linked to somewhere around here, I don�t know - She�s the clever one who designs web-pages. I just admire them and waffle about how great She is, which I think is a neat symbiotic relationship. (No doubt you�ll be reading a lot about Her here as well, since She is, after all, the centre of my universe.)
For one thing, She seems determined to cure me as quickly and thoroughly as possible, which is excellent, because I�m not very good at nursing myself. One of the strange things about being a Loris is that there�s a fairly high threshold for the common ailment to become actually, actively unpleasant, and most of the time, I never reach it, so I never really learned the art of making them go away. Does that sound strange? What I mean is something like this: The common cold, when you take a detached look at it, isn�t really all that bad. I mean, yes, it makes you quite snotty and vile, and probably also gives you a headache, but I think the social aspects more than compensate. You can shuffle round in pyjamas and dressing-gown all day; and not go to work; and no-one expects you to go out for trivial things like food or toilet-paper; and while you may feel a bit sluggish, your brain still works, although most people don�t know that, so that while you can, if you genuinely want to, watch obscure foreign films and read lesser-known Elizabethan poetic philosophy, you don�t actually have to do more than sleep and play Tetris all day to avoid being frowned upon. It�s just like being an aristocrat.
On a side note, now that I think about it, all of my encounters with great, life-changing literature before I came to University occurred when I was off school sick. If I remember rightly, that was how I met Austen (Age 13, Heavy Cold), Hemingway (Age 15, Throat Infection), Chaucer (Age 17, Virulent Stomach Bug, Bad Idea in Places). During one particularly memorable case of mysterious-swollen-gland disease, I read Wolstonecraft�s Declaration & Vindication, followed by A Room of One�s Own, followed by A Female Eunuch in 24 straight hours, and it effected a miraculous cure.
Anyway, now I sound like I Was A Teenage Hypochondriac, and it�s only my first-ever entry. (I was not a Teenage Hypochondriac. All things considered, it�s amazing I didn�t fake illness a lot more often during my secondary education, but that, I suspect, is a different story). I am going to stop, now, because my One True Love will be back soon, and I�ve waffled an awful lot. (She�s gone to a caf� with one of our friends, one of the kindest, gentlest people I�ve ever met, who I don�t think knows that the caf� has a sister-establishment on the Cowley Road with (ahem!) lap dancing.)
Yes, double parentheses. It must be the fever. Time for some Lemsip and a snooze�.
Pissed Off Loris - Saturday, Feb. 24, 2007
Swotty Loris - Thursday, Jan. 18, 2007
Mimetic Loris 2006 - Tuesday, Dec. 26, 2006
Psycholoris - Thursday, Oct. 26, 2006
Cunning, Linguistic Loris - Tuesday, Oct. 24, 2006