I swear there are razor blades in my throat. I looked and there aren't. It sure feels like it though. Maybe germs wielding thousands of microscopic swords. At the moment the most beautiful phrase in my life is: "Marked Drowsiness May Occur." Please. Now. Nyquil thou art nectar of the Goddess. I wish I could chug it during the day. But then that would make my first week back to work even more confusing for me. More pleasant though. I guess my eyes are okay. Bloodshot but not gloppy. Not sneezing either. Just the damn throat. The Minion has an overnight at a friend's house tomorrow night. I'll be in bed by 6pm if I still feel like death warmed over.
Zoely: If I forget to email you a b-day card Saturday it's because I am stoned out on meds. Happy 40th!