scratchy throat, weak, and at opposite ends of the couch. good nite wednesday. all i need is to curl up my sick self with jax and fascinate until this nyquil knocks me on my ass. a day filled with wedding bubbles, blankets, and free-flying internet cords has me so frustrated all i want is silence in my own bed.
and why, i ask, does the one who's throat has been hurting spend and hour and half on the phone with bitchy, black alabamians arguing over why the correct IP address won't show up? good question. Much to my dissappointment i will have to settle for weird science over dexter. how exciting.
as now ive been taught to pray before large undertakings, i will retire to the upper half of the loft, where i won't be able to hear my fictional fantasy on his joy rides through northern california, and pray that i wont wake up feeling the way i did this o so glorious day
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