Somebody remind me to never take a Mucinex ever again. I'm telling you, they kill me. 4 hours ago I was stoned, as Seth put it, and now I'm wide awake at 5 AM, and not a lick of sleep. My brain won't stop. My heart's pounding. I'm hungry. So, I'm assuming that would be the other half of that big honkin' pill I took. The white half, maybe. Not the expectorant half, the other half, the half that's a few chemicals shy of crack. I actually took two pills.
I've got a continual and conscious narration of my thoughts going on inside my head. It doesn't help that, with my new reading companion, Wuthering Heights, (which I read right before bed) I'm thinking with a British accent and inflection. Which is both interesting and amusing all in itself: One part of my consciousness listening to the other part speak in proper British form.
Anyway, I've got a dang cold.
Or shall I say...A temporary illness led on by winds of misfortune has befallen me, and I dare say I must take necessary precautions to beseech its retreat. Retreat, I say! Retreat, unwanted ghoul of nature. Ahhh, retreat unto the far reaches of origin that you might sink back into nonexistance and disturb one's slumber no more.
Yeah, so....can't sleep.