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.