Oh.
I'm not entirely sure last night's fun was really worth vomiting pizza (WHOLE ONION BITS FOR EXTRA DISGUSTING DETAIL = ROCK) into the toilet, sleeping for four hours, waking up nauseous and HEADESTRUCTIONish and being for an hour at the dentist (with the mouth, of the puke, and the alcohol, and the badness, wide open, wide open, explored, further disgraced) and well, three and half at school to ask for a fucking photocopy, all the while feeling that maybe, just maybe, there's something I should be violently expelling from by body - with knives of deadly accuracy.
And my stomach is still trying to be all fatherly, patting me with loving condescension, making my innards nervously blush. Or rot.
Succintly: Oooh. |