If this entry doesn't make you feel sick, nothing will.

So. Yesterday I got up late, and was passed the most blasé comment in the world as I quitted the house; today wasn't much better. However, I did get up at the right time. Rising as I did at 6:45, I checked my 'phone, realised I was an hour early and promptly went back to sleep, because... well, because I could, really. Woke up when Dad brought me a cup of tea, went back to sleep. Ten minutes later, my alamrm went off, got up, drank lukewarm tea, and put on The Spice Girls while I got dressed.

So far, so good, apart from The Spice Girls.

Anyway, so I wandered downstairs to get some orange juice, but I couldn't help feeling there was something wrong. Usually, when I feel there's something wrong, there is. I ignored it, however, got all my stuff together, and was just about to head out of the door when I realised what was wrong, exactly. My stomach was hurting.
It used to hurt all the smegging time, but it's calmed down a bit now, which is probably why it took me a few minutes to work out exactly what was wrong. Of course, I ignored it (I have a history of doing this, going as far as going to school, getting through one-and-a-half periods of food tech, collapsing, being taken to the emdic's room, being sent home and lying in agony under a duvet on the sofa for three days), and managed to make my way to the front door, and even wlaked as far as the train station.

And that's when it got mad.

Was standing on the train station when the major cramps started, so I got to try out the newly-installed toilets they've put in at BHP. They weren't half bad, actually, apart from a total lack of paper (but I had some blank paper with me, so that was quickly rectified) and I managed to alleviate the pain for a while. I got onto the train, and put on some music (which, incidentally, happened to be Unbalanced Grass), but by the time we had got to Edmonton Green, the insular thumping had started again. What's worse, I was surrounded by people, there were no toilets, and it was worse this time.
I was immediately reminded of the time I'd sat through an entire lecture on Romanticism, told Lisa I'd meet her in the seminar and sprinted to the faculty's disabled toilet ('cuz it was closest), stayed there for half an hour, staggered up to the seminar and managed to make it through all the way. If I'd done it before, I could do it again - compared to an hour, 40 minutes on the train'd be peanuts. I even had the dulcet tones of my motley crew to soothe me. As expected, it didn't quite work.

Got off the train at Bethnal Green, and hurried down the road to the greasy spoon café where I usually have breakfast. What a surprise, it was still closed. But by this tie I was desperate, so I dashed into the McDonald's next door. Frantically ignoring the 'these toilets are for paying customers only' notice, and the dim-looking work experience girl who was looking at me strangely, I kicked the door open and ran to the gentlemen's room.

I was just in time.

After about twenty minutes of searing pain and huge efforts on my part, I was brought to wondering whether anyone in McDonald's had used the toilets to go number two, seeing as the toilet look unused. Then I remembered that this was McDonald's, and that everything they served was practically made of the stuff. With this delightful image in mind, I flushed the toilet, watch it get blocked and then unblock itself, flushed it again, washed my hands about 41974274804893489284 times, and wandered casually out without lowering myself to buying anything at all.

Take that, McDonald's.

Ignoring the stabbing jolts, I made it up the road to the sandwich bar, got a (raher poor) cheese toastie for breakfast, went through the park and into the building, upstairs, ito the Peaceworkers office and sat down at LIME.
Took our remaining paracetamol, and the pain started again.

So I've endured an hour and a half of absolute, alliterative abdominal agony, to get here, and to sit here waiting for Daniel to turn up so he can show me how to use Mambo. In other words, my morning activities will have been mostly comprised of screaming and bowel movements.

What a waste of a life.