I have a cold, a head cold. I am a baby when I am sick; I could never deny that, but will inevitably try. My head feels like a mushroom stuffed with cotton, baked in the oven.
It is moments like this that I think trepanning the skull might not be such a bad idea. Little scar, no more sinus pressure… They make over a million different sex toys and nothing to really suck the mucas out of your head, seems a tad unbalanced to me.
So Emily Dickinson I do not enjoy reading, which I have to for my ENG 125 course. I heard a fly buzz… no that was a wasp. I want to be asleep right now.
Tim’s best friend of all time, Donna, has been here since thursday evening with her son Andrew. She is a ton of fun and he is a very sweet kid. And I was sick. I feel bad that Tim sees so little of her. Poverty.