I'm crabby. I'm tired, I think I have bursitis in my left shoulder (FREAKING OW!) and I want to run away. I want to go somewhere where no one knows who I am and no one who does can find me. Once there, in Nirvana, I want to sit with nothing but the sound of waves in my head, sipping double banana goofy drinks made by a non-English-speaking someone else and reading books. What I don't want to be doing are the twelvety-million things I'm expected to be doing. I'm done. D. U. N. DONE. Happy Sunshine Gwen has left the building. Check back tomorrow.
About ten minutes later . . .
Uh yeah, so I wrote the above under a black cloud of self-indulgence and as soon as I typed the last period of it, I got the blue screen of death. I can't remember which I said first, "FUCK!" or "Perfect." Either way, the BSOD was a false alarm, my mood has improved - terror will give a person some perspective - and now I need to hop over to www.mozy.com and make sure my shit is backed up. (I don't trust my external hard drive; I caught it wearing my panties last Sunday and I still think it slept with my last boyfriend.)
(Also? Just talking about the BSOD makes me all hinky like it should remain unnamed. Shhhhh!)
