I Feel Sorry For Worms.

In the mornings I see worms that got trapped on the sidewalk when dawn came and burned up like vampires in the sun. It's so sad they A.) they are unaware of the sun; B.) they're so slow they can't escape. Poor worms.

I may have found a new migraine cure. After enduring the pain for nearly 24 hours, I took a trip to Walgreen's, always a good time, and loaded up on supplies. Coca-Cola, bottled water, and ice cream. Then I watched Red Dwarf on PBS. I feel better. I just wish I could sleep. That would be awesome. I forgot to buy an ice pack. I keep using quart size freezer bags, but I am afraid I'll pop it or not properly zip it up and then I'll get glacial melt water all over my favorite pillow. I can't have a sodden pillow in the middle of a migraine crisis. I'm definitely feeling better. I can read the screen without wanting to hold on to something to stop all the spinning. That's good. 'Cause yeah, I'm a geek and stood in line last night to get Harry Potter, but the whole standing in line thing I think triggered the headache so I haven't been able to read past Chapter 10 because of the whole eye-strain-headache syndrome. Mostly I just keep my eyes closed as much as possible in these situations.

I hear police helicopters a lot lately at night. Ah, life in the big city. I think I've had enough typing and screen glare. I think I might be able to sleep some more. The best cure for feeling like crap for any reason is being unconscious. Mmmm, comatose.

Stewart Copeland Reminded Me Why I Wanted A Gong. Because they ROCK. Duh.

When Stefanie casually asks if you have any homework or classes to attend on Wednesday night right before Knocked Up starts, I suggest you say no. Because if you say, "Yeah, I have to read two chapters about old peoples' psychological development and another chapter about death, then I have to write my autobiography using Erik Erikson's theory of development as a model," then you won't get a free ticket and free drinks and free gelato after The Police reunion show that YOU JUST FUCKING WATCHED FROM THE FOURTH FUCKING ROW, FUCKING CENTER, FUCKING EQUIDISTANT BETWEEN STING AND ANDY SUMMERS WHO FUCKING SMILED AT YOU WHILE FUCKING SUSTAINING FUCKING EYE CONTACT, DIRECTLY IN FUCKING FRONT OF STEWARD COPELAND AND YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO TELL PEOPLE HOW FUCKING TIGHT STING WEARS HIS FUCKING PANTS AND THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW HE DRESSES TO THE RIGHT AND HAS A FUCKING GUY BRINGING HIM FUCKING CUPS OF FUCKING TEA AND HOW MUCH THE POLICE FUCKING ROCK AND STEFANIE FUCKING ROCKS AND THANK GOD I DIDN'T FUCKING DIE OR ONE OF THEM DIDN'T FUCKING DIE AND I GOT TO SEE THEM FUCKING PLAY MY FAVORITE FUCKING SONG THAT I SWEAR IS ABOUT THE LOCH NESS FUCKING MONSTER AND YOU WON'T HAVE TO WAIT ALMOST A WEEK TO FUCKING BLOG ABOUT IT BECAUSE YOU HAD TO FUCKING PROCESS THE FUCKING AWESOMENESS OF BEING SO FUCKING CLOSE YOU COULD SEE THE FUCKING WHITES OF THEIR FUCKING EYES.

Whew, that's a lot of fucking. I'm spent.

PS. I finished the dead old people stuff and turned in the paper and took the last test just now, and once again, I am brilliant. The thing about taking online classes is that you see your score instantly and can see how much better you were than the class average. Man, I love ruining the curve.

I gotta bail. It's open mic night at WRC and I'm heard The goddamned Eagles AND Sweet Baby James and now somebody's singing some shit song with Alleluia in the chorus. My other choice was to take my test at a bar. Note to self: Next time, wrap the laptop in Saran wrap and go to the bar. I swear I'm having an aneurysm, I can't take it, he's singing a song he wrote when he was 17. I am so fucking out of here.