j_scrivner

On Saturday I could not speak and I was feeling near-dead. I believe it was the first time I've ever called in sick to work where I was literally physically incapable of working. My roommate, The Meat Handler, saved my life by giving me some leftover perscription pills that supposedly cured his pnuemonia circa back in the day. These things looked like Tic-Tacs from hell; blue-green algae colored things that could conceivably be used as tampons for leperchauns. Whatever the fuck it was that was killing me, I was completely cured from the disease-that-gave-me-almost-every-physical-ailment- from-the-neck-up within two days.

If I ever have children, I am going to name my first born son Doxycycline Hyclate.

So, now I feel like the hard part of Summer is over. If I could work 60 hours a week while constantly feeling like dried-up shit, I can work the same amount feeling fine right? And other than the slllloooowwwwwwwllllyyy healing right eardrum, all I have to worry about is getting enough sleep. That and working two jobs that I don't particularly care for.

I am counting the days until the fall semester begins as if it were my birthday. 63 days left until I can quit the Pie. Unless, of course, PIC finds out I'm not a telemarketer and fires my ass. But I can keep a secret if you can.

My Father has a Myspace account. There are no more worls to conquer.