I thought there was supposed to be calm after a storm?

Awake. Again.
I survived the night apparently.
Ridiculous how it's 7:30. What in hell am I supposed to do at seven thirty? My body is quite heavily sedated still. But my head. Oh the head. She's buzzing. Thinking about everything under the sun. I feel like there's a whole hive in there. I wish there was a hive, then I wouldn't actually be able to think. Or function. Mmm... Sweet not being able to function.

The day ahead looks bleak. Either i'm going to get turned away at Tony and Janes. Maybe no one will even be home. But any news I hear isn't going to be good. I mean, of course 'he's not in a coma' is brilliant. But it's not what I think I should have to hear. I'd prefer a 'here's a million pounds!' or 'fancy a holiday?'. But no. The best news I could probably recieve today is being told where he has been sectioned.

My denial has worn off. I knew the bastard wouldn't last forever, but still. I just want to fucking get this day over and done with.

And for now? I think a mini-overdose of codiene would be the dog's bollocks.