I'm sure i've been poisoned

Today has been far from productive.

I've spent most of the day in bed, occasionally getting out to be sick. I kept thinking about that Russian spy with his Polonium latté and thinking now it's happening to me. I'm at a loss as to what's brought on the illness but it's resulted in some tragic scenes.

First, after trying to revive myself by having a shower i was overcome by an urge to be sick whilst inside the cubicle. I surrendered, lay on the floor and started to wretch. After which i lay shuddering hoping the spray from the shower would wash me away.

I eventually went back to bed. 20 minutes passed and i got that feeling again. This time i'd be able to use the toilet though. Or not, as it was occupied by my defacating Father.
Forced to improvise i grabbed a shoebox and began filling it with bile. Problem was it started leaking out the sides and so i had to scramble about to find something that'd catch the drops. The only thing i could find however was an England flag. So somehow from the confines of my bed i've managed to insult the nation.

Being sick on the flag is probably one of those crimes still punishable by death. So if the polonium doesn't get me i'll be fucked anyway.