Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.


Today is Michael’s birthday. Congratulations, honey! Now you can have your very own quarter-life crisis! We’re not doing anything special today, because I am driving all over hell and back to get him a Wii in a few days. In the interim, feel free to use the comments section to wish him a happy birthday and/or call him an old man.

—-

We’re also not doing anything today because my spine has exploded. Two nights ago I went to a friend’s house to hang out, and stupidly spent the entire night sitting in a chair with no back. By the end of the night my muscles had tightened up so badly that I asked Chris to punch me in the back — sometimes that works to relax my muscles and give my back a “hey chill the fuck out” message. It worked this time, for a few hours, but then I decided to sleep on the couch because Michael was snoring and I was cranky. End result? I cannot move anything above my bra strap. I would have Chris hit me in the back again, but there is a bruise in the previous spot and I’m a big weenie.

Agh.

Of course, the house is an ungodly mess after two days of immobility on my part. I’ve no idea what to do — ordinarily I’d ask Michael for some help, but dudes, it’s his birthday. I managed to pick up some trash and laundry earlier by using my toes, but now we’re down to the actual cleaning portion of events and… no. It’s not happening. I need one of those cleaning robots like on The Sims.

—-

I am growing ever more excited about our plans for the next couple of months. The Roswell trip is happening in two weeks, and after that it’s just a brief pause until Denver. I keep looking around the house going, “Fuck, we’re still here?” February and March are going to rule.

—-

I didn’t really have an outline for this entry (or, indeed, anything to write about), but I feel I’ve done my duty nevertheless.

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3 Responses to Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.

  1. Adri says:

    Clearly you need one of these. You could grab a sponge with it. Or a rag. Or random things all over the ground. Or, apparently, a dog. The possibilities are endless!

  2. Re says:

    hah. Gewo. So the toe thing just made me laugh so hard. Justin always is calling me “Monkey Toes” because when it hurts or I am too lazy to bend over/down/whatever to pick up something, I use my toes and bring my foot up to my hip to grab [x] item.

  3. Anne says:

    Happy birthday Michael. God, 25. Back when I was single, childless and lived (mostly miserably) in Australia. I did have a tan though ;)

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