I have been on the couch since 10:20am. I have only left it to go to the bathroom, get some food, and once to go to the bedroom to visit with The Boy (who had to take up residence in the bedroom since I had fallen asleep on the couch). It's another rainy day where mold spores are infesting my sinuses and confusing my immune system in to killing overdrive. It is really quite unbearable to me that my immune system is so goddamn stupid that it is constantly attacking my body because it thinks that any speck that is not me, is something to go after, which is really in the end just going after me. How can it be so fucking wrong? There's nothing harming me but me. The horrible irony of it all. And I am powerless to stop it! Where's that gun already?
10:20am: wake up, realize that I feel like I had one hell of a night where I drank pitchers of margaritas, danced, snorted coke and had tons of sex. None of this I did, not even the sex. Not a drop of alcohol, maybe a little shimmy while giggling, and I never snort my coke.
10:30am: make oatmeal, take two Aleve, sit on couch with the orange lover and bemoan my fate. Watch something on DVR, I honestly couldn't say what.
11am: The Boy came home from some work activity. I fall asleep on couch after reading about 3 pages of the book I was so looking forward to reading the whole weekend.
1pm: Wake up, still feeling like ass. Visit boy in bedroom. We come out and watch Twilight. I'm in so much pain that I don't feel too embarrassed watching it. I have other things to worry about than a silly movie where not a single fang or breast was exposed. Lame. At some point I ate more oatmeal and watched some TV. I can't remember in what order any of this happened, and it was only 7 hours ago.
5:30pm: The Boy gets us pizza and more sparkling water (we exist on the bubbles). Then we watch doubt. Better than Twilight, but still no exposed breast. Lame.
7pm: Massive headache still in effect and now the intestines are exploding. So awesome. If that wasn't bad enough, my sinuses are so swollen now that my upper teeth ache. Is this how it feels to be punched in the face? Someone do a scientific study on it and get back to me.
8pm: Watching reruns of Medium. It's a terrible show but I'm addicted to looking at Patricia Arquette's face. Which reminds me, last night, watching Bright Star, I decided to add Abbie Cornish to my pocket friends. I'd like to snuggle with her at night.
9:15pm: Let The Boy play Katamari since he has been stuck listening to my bitter resentment all day. I'm a smelly slug on the couch (night sweats and the lack of a will to live don't really don anything for personal hygiene).
9:40pm: Had to advise The Boy that he is basically sitting on our orange lover. He thought he was a pillow, a pillow that was struggling to free its body from that slab of man weight. Poor fellow has about as much strength as I do to move. Yeah us.
9:42pm: Giving up on this day, going to bed.
9:43: Had to delay it by a minute because one cat was trying to rape another. This happens all the time in oour house, which is insane since not a single testicle exists in any of the cats; yet, 3/4ths of them are horny motherfuckers given to fits of raping. We really do try to teach tolerance and peace, yet there goes Lumpy on Chirpy, standing on him and saying, "Bitch, you want to feel my red rocket, I know you do." Then Lumpy twitches his tail a lot like he is having an orgasm, but nothing is happening because he is fixed, so he just keeps trying. I suppose my life isn't as bad as that.
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