:: Tuesday, November 12, 2002 ::

I feel like I'm falling to pieces. I took the 6 hour trip home from Salt Spring yesterday and came home to a room I couldn't sleep in because my friend puked in it right before I had to leave. Luckily, it didn't smell, but still, I knew there was puke. I just... knew.

So, after 3 hours of sleep, no shower and making it to work on time despite being stranded in East Van, I told my boss I was sick and came home. Am I sick? Yes. Sick enough to leave work? Questionable. I am now sitting amid two hampers full of dirty laundry (lazy), puke (procrastinating), two dead plants (forgetful) and all my unpacked bags from home. So I know what you're thinking: GROSS. But the puke doesn't smell. Honest. You can't even see it.

I haven't tackled any of those pressing tasks because I felt the extreme need to sit down here and update my new baby journal. Of course, in classic form, now that I'm here I have nothing to say. But now that you've read this far and been forced to hear about dirty socks and vomit, I suppose I owe you something. I'll give you a haiku:

tear myself to shreds;
scale the lattice of my bones,
crawl out of my skin

Well, I guess I have some cleaning to do...

(listening to: Cypress Hill - Temples of Boom)

:: Katy 1:15 p.m. [+] :: ::