slower than a mirrorball
So much for that bright idea. I was all set for this weekend to be some kind of exciting romantic getaway for the two of us. Yesterday morning, I had a couple of weird cramps and abruptly found myself in a horrendous mood in which I was convinced that 1992 was the year where I'd been sort of the person I wanted to be for about six weeks and then started making terrible decisions that had led me into a life cul-de-sac, realized that I'd really better lie down, began to ache all over... and then realized that I probably have whatever nasty bug Lisa had a couple of days ago.
I've spent most of yesterday and today in bed, in three-day-old-kitten mode. Lisa took two days to get over whatever it was, and I'm seriously hoping I can do the same. I'm feeling a bit better today than yesterday, but my attention span is stilll just about enough to handle an issue of Batman Adventures.
Lisa, angel that she is, just brought me Grenadine's Goya to listen to. 1992 really was a great year for that stuff, you know?