…Because that means I don’t have to feel incredibly embarrassment-squicked for them.
In me shit, because “life isn’t worth living if you’re not sharing” or some other navel-gazing bullshit, I’ve had some crazy cold/allergy thing for a week now and I am at the point where every time I blow my nose it feels like the last time. But of course, it’s not. I am a snot machine. (How’s that for sharing?)
Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I’ve been poking fingers into beehives over at CJ, wondering why the fuck Wookieepedia has an entry on breasts on Friday and talking about the ever-more likely death of the Expanded Universe today.
I’d blame the cold meds, but I haven’t really been taking any because I ran out of Claritin days ago and every time I go to the story the pharmacy is closed and the only shit that works for me is the stuff morons make meth with. Which makes no sense, because the cold meds that actually make me wacky aren’t the stuff they need a driver’s license to sell me. (Though I did get carded for Robitussin. There’s not even any alcohol in it.)
The kitchen is officially DONE: Painted, new fan, the works. I still haven’t unpacked anything besides the bare necessities, though. I’m either super Zen or suffering from Stockholm syndrome: You choose.