Stupid mortalfolk.
God damn it, neighbours. Waking me up at a single-digits a.m. time with really loud, really bad salsa music and the Star-Spangled Banner in Spanish makes me want to kill you slowly by twisting a pitchfork through your lungs. OK, maybe not that drastic, since most of you are kids and one of you I babysit every other weekend, and while you drive me crazy, I'd probably cry while skewering you. But still. Could you have the decency not to wake me up a 7 a.m. with that din? It sounded like Texican culture spontaneously combusted next door while I was sleeping, you whores.
Not that the killer insomnia helps my mood. Last night, I actually fell asleep at 2 a.m. I had dreams. The first was weird and disjointed and involved BRPS and eating shoes, so we'll not go there. The second was that I was in bed and an inch-long tick-looking thing was trying to bite me, and I kept trying to squish it and it wouldn't die. I woke up, found myself in the same bed, and despite it being all of three-thirty a.m., proceeded to freak out and check my bed for inch-long ticks before finally sleeping on the couch, because Jesus. That dream was very realistic and that tick was a big-ass motherfucker.
Fuck you, hormones. I was three and a half weeks late on my period (without worries, though, because pregnancy is right-out unless God himself placed Jesus II in my virgin womb - I wouldn't name him Jesus, of course, I'd give him a name like Lucifer just to spite people. All hail SATAN!) and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass - or actually, other regions of my body which I shan't go into.
The dizzy spells are back. I'm probably going to see a doc about them, because they've been getting more frequent and less pleasant, if they ever were at all.
Also, yay, mood theme and San Diego Comic-Con! Anyone else going? We normally wouldn't splurge on it, but my mother wants to go to the Beach Waffle and see her sister/my most beloved aunt anyway, and my brother's very excited about it too. And, Mike Ryan is there, and I WILL bum sketchies off him. Or at least signatures.
Boo, upcoming dental surgery. Eck.
Not that the killer insomnia helps my mood. Last night, I actually fell asleep at 2 a.m. I had dreams. The first was weird and disjointed and involved BRPS and eating shoes, so we'll not go there. The second was that I was in bed and an inch-long tick-looking thing was trying to bite me, and I kept trying to squish it and it wouldn't die. I woke up, found myself in the same bed, and despite it being all of three-thirty a.m., proceeded to freak out and check my bed for inch-long ticks before finally sleeping on the couch, because Jesus. That dream was very realistic and that tick was a big-ass motherfucker.
Fuck you, hormones. I was three and a half weeks late on my period (without worries, though, because pregnancy is right-out unless God himself placed Jesus II in my virgin womb - I wouldn't name him Jesus, of course, I'd give him a name like Lucifer just to spite people. All hail SATAN!) and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass - or actually, other regions of my body which I shan't go into.
The dizzy spells are back. I'm probably going to see a doc about them, because they've been getting more frequent and less pleasant, if they ever were at all.
Also, yay, mood theme and San Diego Comic-Con! Anyone else going? We normally wouldn't splurge on it, but my mother wants to go to the Beach Waffle and see her sister/my most beloved aunt anyway, and my brother's very excited about it too. And, Mike Ryan is there, and I WILL bum sketchies off him. Or at least signatures.
Boo, upcoming dental surgery. Eck.