Searching for my Happily Ever After.

I've taken on the terrible responsibility of NaNoWriMo. I've been at it for over a week now and I still haven't gone onto page 2. BUT I am quite pleased with what I've written so far. It's about a man called William Orpen (sorry Wil, I stole your name and road) who lives in the dismal town of Nether Wallop (again, sorry to the village of Nether Wallop. I've never visited it and Dad says it's pretty, but I just liked the name and stole it). He works at a funeral directors but wants to be an archaeologist. He has a glamourised idea of what archaeology is and will probably be disappointed if he ever becomes one though. I have no plot and only one character and have to reach 50,000 words I am going to die.

In other news, I have been ill for nigh on a week and a half. It started off as a mere cold and has since mutated itself across various different illnesses. I've been pale, dizzy, nauseus, achy and stiff, in that order. Right now I can't turn my neck left nor right (though I CAN nod) and I can taste bile at the back of my throat (and the prize for Too Much Information goes to...)

Yesterday I went to the Dungeon (against my better judgement for I was really too ill to go) and many magical things happened. It was Neil and Toby's (Steve's friends) birthday and they all had cuban cigars as a birthday treat. Steve let me have a few tokes since I've never smoked anything before. It wasn't disgusting, but I don't see the appeal. It was like taking all the ash from a bonfire and shovelling it into your mouth. I mean, why would one do such a thing? But it did make me look 'cool' (and by 'cool' I mean 'pretentious')

I danced with a guy named Duncan and would have enjoyed it immensly if I didn't have the heavy cloud of guilt weighing upon my mind, causing me to search constantly for Steve.

I got rather drunk, and on more than one occasion downed a double vodka and coke in a matter of seconds (Duncan called me 'hardcore', hehe), but as I don't get hangovers it was ok. Imagine my ill self having to contend with a hangover as well as my mutant cold!

Right so my headache is telling me to go to sleep, and that I shall.

Fare thee well, my lovely.