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*coughcoughsnifflecough*
I'm sick. Sinuses are going to implode. Head pressure is... owww.
Wanted to go to Ren Faire with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rewil tomorrow (today... it's after two, isn't it?) but I'm beginning to think that would be a Very Bad Idea.
Beginning to think that making a giant nest out of pillows and reading romance novels and drinking Diet Sprite and generally not making any effort to get off my arse sounds like a great idea for tomorrow.
I'm supposed to game in the evening, but as dosed up as I am at the moment (thank you NyQuill, you are my bestest friend, Evah) and as I plan on being all weekend, I'm not sure driving a vehicle would be a Smart Thing to Do.
Found a copy of Blow Dry for $4.00 today. Mr. Rickman, Bill Nighy(?), Mr. Rickman, Hairdressing competions, and did I mention Mr. Rickman? Cause he's in the movie. Just so you know.
Also picked up Gosford Park and a Pat Benatar CD that I used tosteal borrow without permission from the girl who lived across the hall in my dorm that first freshman year.
Oh, wow, ears just popped. That's weird. I think the happy red liquid of death is finally starting to kick in.
Nite nite.
ETA: It's 3:40 a.m. I have lost the ability to breath through my nose. Which I just tried to spell noise and only just managed to correct. I Must Sleep, and yet I can't because the moment I lie down the drooling begins (open mouth + clogged nose = spittle) and my cheek gets wet and I wake up. It's a vicious train of no respect that words can not touch base with. *snerkel* I remember working at the school paper. That woman (she of the train of no respect) could not write her way out of a paper bag. I see bunnies.
ETA, Again: It's fourish. Did I ever mention that I'm not allowed near the computer or phone when I get tipsydrunk. I like to call people and tell them what I think about them. The truth. The gosh-darn-honest-you-suck-and-this-is-why truth, in some cases. So no phone. And no e-mail cause I ramble and tell people things. DH usually gives me my foul tasting NyQuil and then unplugs the computer and lies down with me to make sure I stay put... but he's not here. And I can't sleep. I'm so tired. I don't feel so good.
I'm sick. Sinuses are going to implode. Head pressure is... owww.
Wanted to go to Ren Faire with
rewil tomorrow (today... it's after two, isn't it?) but I'm beginning to think that would be a Very Bad Idea. Beginning to think that making a giant nest out of pillows and reading romance novels and drinking Diet Sprite and generally not making any effort to get off my arse sounds like a great idea for tomorrow.
I'm supposed to game in the evening, but as dosed up as I am at the moment (thank you NyQuill, you are my bestest friend, Evah) and as I plan on being all weekend, I'm not sure driving a vehicle would be a Smart Thing to Do.
Found a copy of Blow Dry for $4.00 today. Mr. Rickman, Bill Nighy(?), Mr. Rickman, Hairdressing competions, and did I mention Mr. Rickman? Cause he's in the movie. Just so you know.
Also picked up Gosford Park and a Pat Benatar CD that I used to
Oh, wow, ears just popped. That's weird. I think the happy red liquid of death is finally starting to kick in.
Nite nite.
ETA: It's 3:40 a.m. I have lost the ability to breath through my nose. Which I just tried to spell noise and only just managed to correct. I Must Sleep, and yet I can't because the moment I lie down the drooling begins (open mouth + clogged nose = spittle) and my cheek gets wet and I wake up. It's a vicious train of no respect that words can not touch base with. *snerkel* I remember working at the school paper. That woman (she of the train of no respect) could not write her way out of a paper bag. I see bunnies.
ETA, Again: It's fourish. Did I ever mention that I'm not allowed near the computer or phone when I get tipsydrunk. I like to call people and tell them what I think about them. The truth. The gosh-darn-honest-you-suck-and-this-is-why truth, in some cases. So no phone. And no e-mail cause I ramble and tell people things. DH usually gives me my foul tasting NyQuil and then unplugs the computer and lies down with me to make sure I stay put... but he's not here. And I can't sleep. I'm so tired. I don't feel so good.