I’m actually properly sick and I haven’t been sick in years. I don’t know what to do with myself. I know what I should be doing. Other stuff, that’s what. Yesterday I thought it was just a hangover from the banging party I was at on Saturday. Also, it turns out that I’m an awesome DJ, but I must re-evaluate that due to stomach cramps and vomit. Being sick, not the DJing.
Baaa! I have a fucking job interview tomorrow, too. Hot-damn! I’m going to have to man the fuck up and pretend to be fine. Hopefully I will be though. I’m suppose to go see Reggie, too. I was suppose to see him yesterday but had to get a really early train home from London and I was also sick then, too. You think that we would have evolved to never be sick anymore. I also think we should have evolved to see better in the dark. I don’t think it’s fair that dogs can see fine at night and we can’t. The other day one of the dogs, Duffy, was trying to find a little sausage or something she had hidden behind her bed and I turned the light off just to annoy her a bit, but she just kept on. If that was a human boy or girl trying to dig out a sausage from behind their bed and I turned the lights off they’d go ape shit. I can even safely say they’d swear towards me. “Turn that fudging light back on, you!” or something light that. “What the effing fudge, you cunt?” You know what swearing is. I wont patronize you.
I really feel like I should eat, but what if I eat and then I just sick it back up again? What if I’m pregnant? I can’t be. Or I could be, it would just be a Jesus-baby because I’ve never had sex. Or have I? I think I have a fuzzy memory of having sex once, but it was so long ago I’ve forgotten all about it. Or maybe I’m getting my life mixed up with Orlando Blooms again. I’m always doing that. I wonder if he mixes his life up with mine from time to time? Like he might be bored as fuck in the house because there’s fuck all to do where he lives and he can’t go out because he’s skint so he just sits in his tiny room because the only options for watching T.V. are god-awful soaps and reality shows in one room or the fucking football in the other, so he just sits in his tiny, boring room fucking about on his laptop and writing shitty blogs and funny songs he will probably never get recorded and then he thinks to himself, “Ha! What am I like? I’ve only gone and got my life confused with Miles Lloyds again! I’m actually fucking loaded and don’t live in a shit-hole town in my parents house with fuck all to do! I’m Orlando, mother-fucking, Bloom and I’m going out to get white girl drunk and pick up loads of women.”
Not me, though. I’m going to the toilet to be sick.
The "Wonderful" World of (Spencer) Miles Lloyd 
I don’t know what we’re liking here, I mean, it was an enjoyable read, but is it ok to like that you’re ill?
You can like how Orlando Bloom is sometimes very miserable because of me.