Blergh

And blergh and blergh.

And on it goes, being blergh. And then I feel okay for a bit and get a bit of perspective and see a good sunset on the train on the way home with the great unwashed (I hate catching the train with the loathsome populace. I always detest humanity in proportion to how crap I'm feeling myself. Today I felt positively hateful towards my fellow human. Sad).

Then I see the sunset and think, look how beautiful that is. God is here. And then I realise that it's not all blergh.

And then later on I feel blergh again. Return to top paragraph. Repeat.

I guess I should console myself with the bell curve approach. At least I'm not Mocca, who, whilst playing a friendly game of work netball yesterday afternoon, got upended by someone, and came smashing down onto the ground. He broke his fall with his wrist and his head. His head had concussion, and some stitches put in it last night (9 hours after the fact; hail our marvellous health care system). His wrist was so badly fractured with bits of bone sticking up a la Nathan Brown that he had to be put out for them to reset it. They operated this afternoon - a four-hour stint. He's not having much fun, but being his standard stoical self.

Me, I'd be more like the guy in the cubicle a few doors down who was whingeing and crying out to people to stop the pain. I'd be yellin' for the morphine, too. I don't have it in me to be stoical, as much as I'd like to be able to suck it up.