"The sleep of Reason brings forth monsters."

--and I'm not talking about my many psychological and emotional problems, oh, no. That goddamn J-metal concert--I was out in the cold, on line for "a good spot" for three and a half hours! And those fuckers didn't even sing in English!

So, on top of fucking with my asthma, all that cold air gave me a hellacious cold. I knew from Sunday I'd be calling out Monday. What I didn't feature was going to the clinic and blowing money on the visit--I have to submit some paperwork to my insurace company since the clinic doesn't accept my insurance--and the prescription copay. But you know, this time last year, I had to pay for all this shit outta pocket with no reimbursement or price break, so I won't even complain about that the bureacreatic pantomime.

My chest feels like I used it to catch a bowling ball one or two hundred times. When I lay down, I can barely breathe at all and I can't stop coughing, period. Walking even as far as the kitchen feels like I ran a marathon, I get so winded.

The doc--not my doc, Dr. Hambright, but some other pill-pusher--wrote me another prescription for Advair. Sixty doses, this time, woo-hoo! And a really powerful antibiotic called Doxycycline Hyclate, which is generic Vibramycin. 100mgs of the stuff twice a day for ten days. I look forward to the constant gastro-unrest and diarrhea.

The Advair has already given me a mild fever. Rock out.

I'm gonna call out tomorrow, fuck my PTO, fuck their stupid "points" for taking any kind of time off without two weeks notice. No point going in to make myself sicker, so that I wind up having to take off five days instead of two. Besides which, I can barely talk and I'm coughing up vary-colored mucus every five minutes, or so, which is just fucking gross--even for me and it's my mucus. My coworkers shouldn't have to put up with that. Theoretically, neither should customers, but fuck the customers.

If they wanna fire me for being sick without two weeks notice, they can go right ahead.

I didn't write a damn thing, today, not that chapter 7 is being anything like cooperative.

I want my fucking glasses.

The asthma's treating me pretty good, today, thanks for asking =D I've been up and down stairs all day, like a fucking burro. But I haven't needed the inhaler once.

Coughing and wheezing? Can go suck it =D

Um . . . redid my journal (I hear you bastids in the peanut gallery, groaning: "Again?"). I grabbed this exquisite header from ciley. I was *hem* recced by impertinence. Go read her journal.

The intruction on how to use the header? Came from none other than altyronsmaker.

Hey! I did it! HTML is so my bitch!

If it weren't for altyronsmaker--*coughs*goreadherjournalnow*clears throat* I wouldn't have changed my journal from the sanguine pastel-y earthtones you once enjoyed, to the chaotic mess it currently is. But look at this as . . . an experiment. An object lesson, if you will.

All the crazy color and design choices were totally mine, and aren't meant to reflect on the taste, talent, philosophy or temperment of the ladies who were kind enough to--if unknowingly, in ciley's case--pitch in. Send all hate mail to the usual place. Thanks.