It's lunchtime and I'm still mooching around in my jim-jams. I'll admit this has got something to do with the fact that I have no pressing job to get to, but it's got a lot more to do with my internal organs.
They went on full strike last night - at around 3am, to be precise. I'm not talking go-slow protesting; I talking full on toyi-toyiing, kicking and screaming, Security Guard and members of Shoprite-Checkers strike. Crying "Unite the workers of the dissatisfied Bowel Movement!" at the top of their would-be lungs.
It could've been the second cup of milky milo that I had before supper yesterday. Or it could've been the cheese that I loving lash on every meal. It could've been the creamy soup that I made for dinner or the box of butter milk cookies that I devoured in my desperation over not having TV or internet access. It could've even been - in a true act of betrayal - the rich mayonnaise that I love so much. Or maybe, a little bit of everything. But at 3am this morning, by internal organs said, "I am Jack's disenchanted Gut. I have on a number of occassions hinted at a severe lactose intolerance, but Jack pays no heed. Here we go again..."
And so it was until 7am this morning, when I finally managed to get my stomach to calm down to a dull ache. Which is pretty much the exact time that that my neighbours upstairs decided (from the sound of it) to knock down their adjoining wall while drilling into their floor, through my ceiling and straight into my right temple.
I am Jack's aching head.