I have now been awake for about 38 hours.
I feel like hell on a stick.
I really wanted to blog today, but I think my brains have turned to cottage cheese.
At this exact moment, I am close to hating Boyf. He's in bed. Asleep. Why isn't he suffering like me? Bastard.
You know that feeling you get when you're so sleepy you're not quite sure if what's happening is actually happening or if you're dreaming it?
Or is that just me?
So, if you happen to spot the Sleepy-Time-Fairy in the not too distant future, would you mind telling her on my behalf that there's been a clerical error at head office and they've misplaced my address? Thanks.