Yes, this is a pointless post. This was written for the sake of my bruised ego (and just because I’m in the mood to gripe).
It would be easier if I actually have something to gripe about.
I need to roll over and sleep, seriously. But I’m afraid Annie would return, find me, and alert the ER. I don’t fancy waking up in the middle of scrub-suited strangers unless one of them looks like Noah Wyle (which is so unlikely). The last time I gained consciousness in the middle of a medical team, they were stitching my scalp together and I started screaming vindictives and threats I never even thought I’d think about before I was even fully awake. Unladylike, yes. But you’d probably do worse if they were sewing your head together without anesthesia. And they shaved my head. I was practically half-bald! Haha…
Now where was I again? Oh, nowhere.
I’m just waiting for 5pm, so I can go to my favorite washroom and throw-up my lunch. I don’t have an eating disorder, but an overdose of Victoria’s Secret Garden Strawberries & Champagne mixed with the ever-malodorous cigarette stench of Al Qussie has made me slightly ill. (That cologne is overpriced, but it was a gift so w.t.h.)