Smidgen is old, shaking, and has a chronic case of the poops.
I had a sex dream to rival the *worst* romance-gone-wrong novel last night.
I have to work with idiots all day long.
I don't know what I want for breakfast, so I probably won't have anything for breakfast and I'll starve until 1:00 or 2:00.
I feel a fat day coming on.
*whine whine bitchety whine*
On TV: Weather report.
Music: Still stuck on Rascal Flatts.
Reading: Dunno yet...maybe another Jennifer Crusie.
In my head: Excedrin.