After a few false starts my body chose to give out spectacularly last night as I sparked through what was left of the evening, setting the sheets on fire. I woke up in flames and smoldered through breakfast and now I've decided it's time to pack my (non-flammable) things and head back to the sideshow, where circus people go when they have enough talent left to fake something interesting as long as it doesn't involve the real world.
I'll be the Incredible Self-Immolating Girl. Watch her burn! Step back now, don't stand too close, folks.
The rest of them are on antibiotics. I'm pretty sure a liberal helping of bourbon and then the one of brandy last week somehow insulated me from the bacteria on the point or maybe my physiology instinctively doesn't get sick because I am the primary caregiver. I just know that I fight to exist normally even though clearly today I'm out of my league.
Everyone else is back to work today. We finished the Walking Dead. We considered some other shows as well and haven't settled on the next one yet. We ordered pizza and we lazed about but it was as if it never happened this morning in the rush to get going and now I sit alone in the kitchen wishing I could go back to sleep.
But I won't. Too busy planning my act. I've decided I'm going to be famous.
