Ack, ow, pass me a hot water bottle. I thought I felt something stirring downstairs that wasn't just the sight of Wesley tied up and tortured in last night's Angel. Technically, I should be at home today wallowing in a warm bed watching Lex. But due to it only being three weeks since my last wallow I'm regretfully out of flex days and givenn a choice between waiting for hours down at the local clinic (qv the gaol, the aylum and the hard core council estate) and being doubled over in agony at my desk trying to write that report, I chose the later. Though I've barely worked on more than a paragrapgh as there's more doubling over in agony than I'd hoped for.
And it just hasn't been my day. The bus zoomed straight past me today, because, again, I wanted to polish off that Wes fic. Every damn time. I ask you. So I had to wait for over an hour in darkness, fog, rain, cold and then sunshine. Gak. I'm still going home early tonight. I feel like crap and I wanna snuggle into bed with a hot water bottle and watch more of my latest care package. I was thoroughly enjoying the Roswell episode on tape #1 and I was thiking, wa-hey, the old Sherriff is making a play for Michael now, the old dog, then no, he's back on Max in a big way and it's oh so slashy and disturbing then eeep...
Guess I'll be racing home to watch Roswell again tonight then.
Whimper, this is really getting bad, mellow yellows (mersyndols) notwithstanding. Another ordeal to endure. At least it's not Saturday. Thankyou for that. Don't know how I'm gonna get this report done. I'm in too much pain to type and any more Mersies and I'll be incapable of typing. I'm screwed.