So, this weekend was kee-razy for me. I worked overtime on Saturday, and the kids were here. Early Monday morning, about 3:30 a.m., I woke up to the sound of someone being sick. That someone was Jimmy... because one cannot convert to an individual Kaiser plan unless one is no longer offered any coverage through one's group, we are effectively blocked from continuing on the decent plan. Good times

You know what pisses me off? Kid Rock borrowed the signature piano section from Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London for his latest craptacular single. So every time I hear it on the radio, I have a surge of delight, thinking I'm about to hear something that always makes me smile. And then it turns out to be this: Oh, the humanity.

It's not been a pleasant couple of days. Someone backed in to Cordy while I was at work yesterday, leaving my license plate hanging by ONE BOLT until I managed to get home and have Mum come out and help...couple hours is to curl up in a small ball in a dark room, crank some Muse, and hope to hell I'm feeling better about life in general before I have to head off to work. Thank goodness I have tomorrow off.

Awake at 2 p.m. again. WTF?!

I've been awake for about two hours. I woke up, started thinking about my grandmother, and despite a fine effort from Jimmy in the snuggling-and-comforting dept, could not get back to sleep. I visited...by it. Now he's an old soldier, there in the clinch. Recently, I've had a lot of extra appreciation for this, (amongst other things); it's really good to have such steadfast shoulder to cry on. Literally

There comes a point where you're beyond wanting to scream, because no-one's listening anyhow. You want to burry yourself beneath your blankets, sob, and imagine that maybe the world is going to go away...something just in my head. You need to know that having a space like this means something to me, however barmy it sounds.  Here's hoping the next entry I write will be a little more positive.

I'd like to go on the record here and state that I hate being ill.  I'm shaking, I'm pretty sure I'm feverish, and yet I'm freezing my ass off despite being in a sweatshirt, heavy pants, and wrapped...and a poster that I can do tomorrow night at Riley's while watching Heroes. Screw the research and my family and my stupid body for breaking down when I need it most. I'm going to go read fic.

Dear world: You've spent the past month kicking my ass. As a result, I am left a broken, bleeding, and bloody mess with psychological bruises all over me, and a significant lack of saline in my system...you will ever know.  No. Allow me to correct myself. In these next few weeks, you're going to find out just how tough I really am. Thanks, but 'eff you for everything you've put me through. -Percy