The Least Fun You Can Have With Your Clothes Off...Ever

Last night was a carnival of woe. Everything was fine until I made the mistake of trying to go to bed at a decent hour. I was scrubbed and tucked in by half past twelve, and no sooner did I squirm into my favorite sleeping position than the back spasms started. The spasms are common; sitting in a chair sixteen hours a day will do that, but rather than let up after a while, they grew and spread to my solar plexus and shoulders. I tried deep breathing and distraction techniques, but my formidable, obdurate brain was not fooled, so it was into the hot shower with me.

( And the Award Goes to...Cut for Discussion of Vomiting )

I did, however, make it to class. A quiz is a quiz, dammit, and if I'm not dead or strapped into a gurney in the county hospital, I have no reason not to be in class, not when there are only 12 classes in a session.

After class, I came home, took a nap, and ate my candy apple, and I am now watching the ACMs, which, aside from the appearance of Garth Brooks, has been a debacle. Everyone sounds drunk or in dire need of Dristan and a lozenge.

I think I'm going to make an early night of it again. Here's hoping for a more engaging entry tomorrow.