I did it myyyyyyy waaaaaay

which, of course, meant the maximum of frustration possible...

i've got a night of prep work (friday) for a day of painting (saturday). We prep just fine, and then decide to go out for a drink at the pub (i must drink on fridays. it's the law). of course, it's now 4:00 am, and the room is still spinning. needless to say, painting for 8 hours with a hangover is not cool. i'm not 17 anymore, which means that even yesterday i still had the occasional wave of nauseous fun fun...

don't misunderstand the above to think that i yarped. no no. even though my body was speaking only one message to me, the message of vomit, i refused to answer. i hate yarping. i'm sure that down that path lies evil.

speaking of evil, i'ma gonna watch bab5 tonight while waiting for that ever-so-important call from the far east, and hope that Olaf accounts well for himself with my boys...

speaking once again of evil, i have a great large hope that doom3 occurs this week, as it bypassed last week in deference to actual life. pshaw.

life.

overrated.

dang. stress is starting to have tangible physical effects now. what does it mean when every once in a while your heart just sorta flutters? it feels kind of like a butterfly/anxiety/adrenaline jolt. and no, my arm doesn't hurt and i'm not short of breath. if anything, i'm full of rage.