It’s 3:00pm, approximately, on a Sunday afternoon. I have been awake close to 11 hours at this point. Perhaps it is no surprise that I am, in a word, cranky.
My arm is killing me. Another not big surprise, since I’ve probably done more sustained writing, reading and typing in the last two weeks than I have in the last year. Normally, I’m at least semi-sane at pacing myself. But I really outdid myself with stupid, especially the last couple of days. This does not make the cranky any better. In fact, it makes it worse.
I would make a crack about being driven to drink – Blogger alone has given me a massive headache – except that the reality is, I’m going to have to drive myself to the store to get alcohol, and the only option in Oregon on a Sunday is beer or wine. (I’d really like to find a nice bottle of vodka, and some tasty flavoured liquor to spike it with. But no, Oregon has to have the most asinine liquor laws in the nation.)
So instead I’m going to do what any sane person in my position would do. Remove the cat from laying across said fubar’d arm, dose myself with the various painkillers I have on hand, turn off email, crawl under a blanket, and forget the world outside my room exists.