Rip Van Winkle Syndrome

My head is full of what seems like pounds of snot, and my throat is sore and it hurts to swallow. The meds I have chosen from the rows and rows of them in Target have made me sleepy and disorientated. In short, I am sick, sick, sick and I hate it. I think the usual situation has occured, where my allergies turn into a sinus infection. I may have to go beg the doctor for help, even though I don't want to.

Bemo's first gig out Saturday night with his new band went really well. They were in a tiny bar in Fairfax City and all three bands ended up mostly playing for each other, barring a scant handful of actual patrons, but the band sounded great and Bemo was riding that performance high as we drove home that night. We tumbled into bed at about one thirty, and slept the clock around, only to wake up, stagger groggily into the other room to watch the Redskins, and then to fall asleep on the sofa. We have only just recently roused ourselves. I feel like the heroine of that White Zombie song: Living Dead Girl.

Off to make a cup of tea, or something.