So sick I'm dizzy. I thought it was the NyQuil sloshing around my polluted bloodstream, but no. Now I accept the fact that I'm as steady as a clown punching bag (and very similarly coloured, what with the puffy red cheeks & lips; and the dead white everything-else). A student just gave me a huge giftmas bribe box o' chocolates; I'm enormously tempted to rip it open and dive in. I think I'll just share instead, and be responsible despite myself.
I think I'm too tired to knit. This may be a crisis.
Today is Good Hank's first birthday. I called a few days ago, but haven't heard anything. Then again, Preacher never returns my calls, so this is nothing unusual. In any case, I wish we lived closer so that we could argue about child raising in person. I miss that.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*