Misery also loves The Real World

Much like yesterday, I spent the majority of my time today in heinous fits of misery. I rotated from the couch to the bed and from the bed to the couch roughly every four hours. Not because I really wanted to, but because I once watched a Primetime report about nursing homes and the horror that is an oozing bedsore. Obviously my bedsore risk rates fairly low, seeing as how I've only been confined to my apartment for three days. I never claimed to be totally rational.

I wish I could enjoy what is effectively a four day weekend but it's amazing how old forcing down popsicles and yogurt can get, especially when one's throat feels like someone set your esophageal area to the pureed setting. I also tend to doze off at the oddest of times, normally snapping to attention when my body has text messaged my sleeping self with 'Hey bitch. U have snot rnng dwn ur face and ur throte needs sum h20. Thnx!! xoxo.'

And then there are the really confusing moments, like when you wake up to two over-zealous Real World sluts performing a vicious oral examination when the last thing you remember is watching a polar bear documentary on Animal Planet. Just in case you're wondering, that's a whole twenty channels worth of flippage or some very coordinated channel selection, all while heavily sedated.

Tomorrow I'm going to make a concerned attempt to make it in to work. This requires that many things be accomplished before 7:30am, specifically, a shower. I'm not sure how that's going to work seeing as how I've had the same black scarf around my neck since Sunday at 2pm. That's going on fifty-five hours of crustification, including the mounting yogurt stains achieved by attempting to feed myself in a semi-prone position. I couldn't be bothered to do more than wipe half-heartedly at them, seeing as how I was conserving my energy for the next time I was going to have to get up and pee.