sentence 1: 15 minutes
sentence 2: 42 minutes
sentence 3: 1 minute
sentence 4: 1 minute
sentence 5: 1 minute
sentence 6: 1 hour
You only think I'm joking. And that wasn't time spent playing FreeCell either. Just writing. Thinking about words, looking up words, rearranging words, removing words, putting words back. Most of sentence 6 involved devising an acronym.
Must. Kill. Laughing. Co-workers.
My mind tugged me down the path of wrongness last night as, like building a flimsy house of cards, I tried to imagine a storyline where Spike was shot in the head, suffered brain damage, and was cared for by a moony-eyed Xander. But I couldn't squeeze much angst out of this. I may be reaching the Late Decadent stage of my BtVS fannish era. A jaded period of yawning vampires and bored carpenters, of effete kink and ennui.
This morning I threw up in one of the metro elevators. I think it was the vitamin I'd taken on a nearly empty stomach. I pondered about whether to stay home but I have a lot of work to do, so I confessed to the nearest cop and continued my commute.
Am tired today. Would like to be curled up like a hedgehog in a twist of sheets under a down comforter with my bare feet sticking out from one end and spikes of overgrown hair from the other. One glowering, half-lidded eye visible in a cranny of pillow and bedding, then it closes and I'm asleep.