Still broken

My body decided to protest the abuse it's taken for the last few days, by sending me all wobbly and lightheaded after lunch.

Well, it's that, or my body hates feta cheese salads, or the air conditioning should have been downgraded, but whichever, by three p.m. I had the shakes and a thumping headache, and so I limped down to the MTR.

After I'd put myself to bed for a few hours, I felt a little better: still wobbly of leg and thick of head, but now I didn't have that hysterical feeling of being about to die.

Which was nice.

To be positive, the cat sat on me, which was uncharacteristically friendly of her, although since she only sits willingly on you when you're sick or exhausted, perhaps she just sensed weakness and was preparing to nibble on my corpse.

Can you die of a broken toe? I guess I should watch for gangrene.

To cheer myself up, I read three years' worth of comic strips from scarygoround.com, which was a good thing, and then watched the first episode of The Walking Dead, which in my frail condition was less well-advised. Now I just have to write 1,200 words of the Great Untitled Hong Kong Horror, and I can go to bed.