Sick

Lindsay's sick again. I have called in sick to work, can't think straight, brain all stuffy, couldn't sleep last night.

hate these stupid paper wrist bracelets that don't tear, have to chew my arm off to get out of it; ah scissors...

be back to work on friday.

Fever Dreams

I'm listening to a bunch of songs, going through titles looking for a nice two bedroom song.

Later, I'm standing in the kitchen at my boyfriend's house, chopping onions at the table, calf deep in water. Then, I throw the chopped onions in the dishwasher.

I definitely do not belong at work today.