The Illusionist

There is sometimes a stage of night where the brain churns viciously enough that I'm having not-quite-dreams: awake but not awake, asleep but not asleep. I'll call it unsleep. Tonight is hamming up to be yet another notch in the strike-force belt of the unsleep, with disturbing images of being led down paths of critical puzzle-solving by an anthropomorphic Suckle Me Elmo doll (complete with the squeaky Elmo voice saying "Suck me! Su-uuuck me!"). Sometimes my brain is a cruel mistress.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

Made a bunch o' new userpics.

Gonna try the sleep thing again.

( Collapse )

Dammit.

Fever. Chills. Big time, came on suddenly. Been in the bed for the last hour after a handful of 'profen.

I blame sybildiscontent. Just because.

( Collapse )

the self-loathing fairy single-handledly pees on a turn signal.

That's pure random genius right there.

Chills have subsided, now I'm playing blast furnace. Gonna open the window and see if this cooling off thing actually works.

Don't know if work will be in flagrante tomorrow. I did not have the spinach, but I did get back on the bike for a 50-minute ride after more than a week. There were green beans, but they were cooked. I can tell that I am loopy, since the plecostemus of words has no fairy drill, and cashout flagellates the bonfire.

I am the Manatee. Feel my whiskery wrath!

You have been worn. Er, warned.