So, OK, OK, OK Mr. Baya. What should I say? I've been responding to the emails in my inbox, which is probably a bad idea, because I don't feel especially coherent this evening.
I'm living on ginger ale. Any local folks who want to drop by and bring me more ginger ale are more than invited to. Why is that Subway man screaming? Jacob stole all the blankets on the couch so I'm not lying down anymore. My head feels like a melon. I think in one of my emails I called it a "pus-filled melon." That's not a good thing. I think I have one of those turbo painkillers left from when I threw my back out at reunion at Antioch over the summer - I'm hoping it will ease my pain and quiet my irrational thoughts enough for me to sleep tonight. It's days like these I wish I kept actual food in the house. I eat at Quiet Storm too much, but you know what - I don't know how to cook and they have yummy vegetarian food. Tomorrow I'll take a bath. Hopefully. Try to do my hair without getting water in my ears. Try ... try ... yea, I gotta try ... Just a little bit harder ... never did finish reading that Janis Joplin book. It was dull as crackers. Ach, what a boring book. See anarqueso - now you've got me saying "ach!".
My doctor is folksy. I like that. He giggles like khaosinc. I like that too. I never really noticed the similarity in their giggles until this morning. Something about big, burly men who giggle like little girls. Something wonderful, indeed. I think I called khaosinc this morning, and left him a mostly incoherent message. I think I talked about pancakes (or, at least, pancakes more so than anything else ...).
So I feel less like I've got an ice pick shoved in my ear. Well, OK, I've still got that ice pick thing going on, but it's more like someone shoved an ice pick in there recently, as opposed to someone is stabbing me with an ice pick right now.
I'm sure I'll update this thing as the night goes on.