I hate Pink Floyd. And Rush. I hate, HATE Rush. It doesn't matter to me if your drum kit has 23 pieces or whatever. If your band is downright awful, no amount of drum kit options are going to help you escape from life in Suckville or Misery Town.
So where was I at 8:00p last night? Sleeping off the sleeping pill that I took to help me sleep Tuesday night! That little, tiny bastard was a MACHINE! It lasted 24 exhausting hours and made me feel like one of those coma victims that can hear everything going on around them but can't react!!
I once knew a girl who contracted some disease after being chomped by a mosquito and it out her into a coma for 2 weeks. She could hear everyone talking to her at all times, being encouraged to do so by her doctor. She said she just wanted to SCREAM for them to shut the Hell up! When she finally came out of the coma, she had trouble controlling the speed of her speech. That was me yesterday. Mosquito bite-enduced coma victim.
"Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist" has so much potential to rock my drawers off, that it will probably suck the will to live out of me. I should stopped getting psyched about it right now and spare myself the disappointment. I'd see it Friday after the art show and get it over with if I wasn't in the red right now. Probably for the best.
Watched half of the "Sex and The City" movie last night...again. Saw it in theaters with Phoebe but wasn't paying much attention. It was the night after a fight via text...and I would learn until later what ELSE was going on that night. Regardless, watching it at home, in my bed, in the dark, in a foul mood...the scene where Carrie learns that Big isn't coming to the wedding...I wanted to roll over and throw up. It's sad. I don't want to be left at the alter...or at the library, which is where Carrie was. But with my luck...
My mood? Still rancid. Thanks.
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