Tuesday 25th August

It has now become apparent that a clot had failed to form within the cavity of my last missing wisdom tooth, the pain sufficiently describes the current state of the year, the clinical term for this is dry socket. Outside the weather is relentless, a meteorologist’s wet dream, water falling from the heaven’s as if to communicate the Apocalypse is here and things can only get worse. A friend contacts me through my damaged mobile communications device, before he speaks I know I have already prepared for the answer to his question “No, Ben, no, the continual pain from my recent locally anaesthetised surgery will remove my participation from attending a restaurant for such an event with you.” We politely exchange formalities before before ending correspondence. It has been 3 weeks since I have been able to congregate with any of my geographically allocated friends of convenience from whence the pain had begun, my emotional and metal state is slowly becoming inconvenienced. My plans for today involve limited movements to address some of the pain currently residing within my socket, paracetamol, comic books and/or Streaming services and requiring the local Vegan Merchants to deliver some soft nutrition which I will then microwave for an appropriate amount of time before cleansing my hands of potential coronavirus particles before unrepentantly devouring the plant based products with guiltless abandon for the flora’s fate. My only solace today is that the double bed within my room no longer causes the mysterious itchy feelings I have had these previous nights, possibly from the removal of arachnidic webs hanging above the sphere of slumberland, also the Guardian Monkey and her misfit animals continue to seem unperturbed by the current pandemical and political climates. I have although noted in my own personal change in habits, this last day, I have examined a seemingly large amount of Johnny Depp’s catalogue of cinematic thespianism and have possibly been affected by the adaptation of Hunter S Thompson’s Gozo Journalist novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, specifically my sudden craving for mescaline, unfortunately as a man no longer in his mid-teens I lack access to the illegitimate pharmacists that could assist me in my curiosity of this intriguing medication.