There's a lovable otter to start off this post. I neither feel or look as chipper as this otter. I'm at home. Sick. I hate being sick. I shall only be taking of making phone calls to either Dave or Sara at this point in time. I'm my current state of consciousness, limiting the amount of names I'll have to remember is key. Making one a boy and the other a girl was just cheating.
Considering that I hate being sick, you'd think I'd do
everything in my possibility to get myself better. Namely, getting enough fluids and getting plenty of vitamin rich nutrients in my system. I'm pretty much eaten nothing by grilled cheeses and cocoa. Dave's come by twice and plied me with ice cream. My mucus membranes are jacked. I don't give a fuck. I'm now eating cheetos.I don't want to leave the impression that I'm a lonely techno geek sitting at my server (notice how I've bypassed the word computer altogether...) nursing redbull to chase down skittles. On a normal basis, I'm pretty much an asshole about making sure I get my proper squares a day. It's just that my synapses don't fire
and I don't do rational things. Overloading my system with preservatives seems to be the instinctive self destruct. I'm also entertaining myself with some pretty tragic brain fodder. I'm so weak and slothlike, I can barely curry the energy to find the remote and turn on the tv. Instead, I've been in the same prone position with my laptop in vertical position (propped up by pillows...tenuous....scary....necessary to promote sloth) and watching SNL skits all day. Andy Samburg isn't as funny as we think, but the juvenile in all of us appreciates the good laugh of a white man rapping.
That shit's super cute. It's a furry thing on a finger, but it's super fucking cute. Damn.That's it. I'm sick. Just rambling.
-the end-
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