*knock wood, sofa, head, laptop, and anything else within knocking distance*
I'm creeping around, having only had Gatorade (not even GOOD Gatorade, but the yucky original yellow crap) for the last 48 hours, and I'm feeling nearly human again. A hallelujah chorus of 'woot' all around.
The only, and I do mean ONLY good thing about taking the medicine I did, is that it causes hallucinatory dreams the likes of which you only get from LSD. Not that I've ever tried LSD, Mom, because I haven't. I wig out at too much Advil. I'm guessing about the LSD related dreams that Hollywood creates? Okay? I'm a good girl. Swear. With
I digress. I had good dreams. I had the sort of dreams that you wake up from, have a sip of Gatorade, nod when it appears that it likes its new home in your tummy, and go back to sleep, and the dream picks up right where it left off.
The leading man in my dreams? Mr. John Krasinski. (Go ahead and give up another chorus of 'woot,' Office fans)
And we were in college; we both lived in my hometown of Irving, Texas (convenient!) and we both lived with our parents. So it was like having dreams about my high school boyfriend, only taller, scruffier and a touch racier. We sneaked out to spend the night with each other - I never did that, either, Mom - (only cuddling, of course) went to dances together, drove around and talked for hours, and our parents seemed unbothered by it, for the large part. And he let me use his toothbrush.
It was all terribly romantic.
*looks at previous part of typed post*
Okay, maybe I'm not telling it right, but it WAS. Hey, I'm still in post flu-like stupor. Cut me a break. :)
In totally unrelated news, there are auditions tonight and tomorrow for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, for which I'd love to be in the chorus. FUN show. Wish me luck.