The Illuminated Donkey

Packing and coughing, coughing and packing. The big move is coming up in about 36 hours, and with exquisite timing I've come down with something horrible and achy. No time or inclination to do any real posting, so instead I'll offer this Kingsley Amis quote from Lucky Jim. It was written about a hangover, but is a pretty fair description of how I felt this morning.

He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not so much as looking at things did: he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.