Late, late, late last night I finally finished the first full draft (holy crap how many F's are there in this sentence?!) of my senior project, though at one point I thought there was going to be a situation when I ran out of chamomile tea. It was touch and go there for a while, but I pulled through.
When I finally struggled and clawed my way up into bed at 5 AM, a little ditty started playing in my head. It went a little something like this:
THIS time, baby, I'LL beEeeeeee BULLEEEEEETprooooof.*
And then it repeated SEVEN BILLION TIMES, because of course those are the only words I know to the song.
So that's how I only got about four hours of sleep before I had to sludge, amoeba-like, out of my bed and into some shoes to go take a midterm. Since then I've just been growing grumpier and grumpier as my face gets phlegmier and phlegmier (which, Blogger tells me, is a word. Webster does not agree).
And now, in a fit of desperation to stop my face from leaking, I am about two hours into my first dose of Nyquil ever.
I should explain this. When my sisters and I were kids, my mom only gave us Tylenol in dire circumstances, like if we were bleeding out of our ears, so I don't have much experience with medication. I wasn't really sure how Nyquil would affect me, but it's all we have in our little plastic medicine box (besides Midol and Airborne, and Bandaids), and I had a headache that...well, it was so bad it caused me to take Nyquil which made me so drowsy that I can't even think of a simile.
The point of all this: NYQUIL IS AWESOME.** More awesome if you don't have stuff to do, though, probably. Although it is good that I don't have to do anything like smile for a half-hour straight, because my face is pretty much numb. All the feeling went to my tingly forearms, you see.
While writing this, I've been playing "Bulletproof" over and over, because that usually works to get a song out of my head. But I think this time it's just ingraining it deeper into my skull, and I want more. This song rocks, you guys. I NEVER WANT IT TO STOP PLAYING. Ooh, eye's twitching. Neat.
*I am all about La Roux, but if you're a singer who can't dance, at least do something a little more interesting in your video than refusing to smile while walking toward the camera through a neon Escher dream or sitting in different poses with yer cool gravity-defying hair. Like maybe a cartoon or something. Or stop motion!
**Although I do understand now why my mother never gave it to us as kids.