That made me empty my cart and leave the site.  I guess I’ll just have to pay full price at the store or at another site  that sells the product.

As you may well know, I CANNOT GET ANY MAIL OR PACKAGES AT HOME.  Well, I guess I COULD, but it’s risky, because much of our stuff was getting lost or mis-delivered, due to the ineptitude of The Evil Post Office, FedEx, and now, UPS.  UPS used to be okay, but now not even they can get it right.

So when I shop online, I have only two choices for delivery – the P.O. box, or Mike’s work.  Normally, this is not a problem, but it would be a problem for him to get a box at work, addressed to him (because I don’t work there), with BARE ESCENTUALS all over it.  I know what the boxes look like.

Mike could certainly just tell tell the mail room dude, “it’s for my wife”, but how much you wanna bet the mail room dude will go “yeah, right, whatever”.  And then it’ll be all over the office in an hour that Mike had a box from a makeup company shipped to him at work.  Will he show up at work the next day in some RuPaul getup?  Granted, he’d never be able to pull it off anywhere near as well as RuPaul does, but still.  People, including his bosses, might hear about the makeup thing and think he’s “weird”, which is not a good thing in this economy.

It would be one thing is he had a box of industrial supplies shipped to him at work, but makeup? Nope. Can’t do it! Maybe none of this would happen, but I still won’t risk embarrassing him that way.

Hey, I have absolutely no problem with guys who want to make like RuPaul.  But many of them are still in the closet about it, and  have to be careful where they buy their female goodies and where they have them shipped to.  And no man who doesn’t want to make like RuPaul wants to even be remotely suspected of doing so.

So these companies need to ship to P.O. boxes already!  There is usually a reason why someone would use a P.O. box, and they often have no place else that is safe to have the order sent to.

So tonight this website lost a good-sized sale.  And I did let them know about it.

I’ve been eyeballing this thing since Virgin Mobile started having it earlier this year.  I am also impressed with the pricing, just $10 extra a month on top of one of their “Beyond Talk” plans.  I was paying $25 a month for this with my old phone, now it’s $35 a month with the BlackBerry.  Not a bad deal, people I know who are stuck with contracts are paying much more.  I refuse to have a contract, and swore I would only have a smartphone if I could get one without a contract.  Well, that time has finally come!

It’s gonna take some time for me to learn this thing.  Luckily, there exists a book called BlackBerry Curve For Dummies, and I bought it for my Kindle so I won’t have to wait for it.  I am serious need of such a book, as there is so much to this phone, the manuals that came with it are almost useless, and I need all the help I can get!

So far, I have Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare apps working on this thing, all have been tested.  This phone supposedly has GPS, so I should not have to search for venues when I check into places via Foursquare; we’ll see how that works when I actually go somewhere and try to use it.  It did find Murphy’s Cathouse, which is my house, so at least that part works.

It was nice to get my new toy today, as I had a rather annoying day.  We’re still living in the middle of a construction zone, the people next door have been hammering and banging away since the butt-crack of dawn, and it was driving me nuts!  Sounds like someone was beating on stainless steel drums all damned day! I would have gone out somewhere, but it was raining like hell, and I didn’t want to deal with that crap.

If the rain stops tomorrow, I might go out somewhere to watch the Red Sox game, drink beer, and play with my new toy.  The Sox are supposed to have an afternoon game tomorrow, maybe I’ll take the T into town somewhere to watch it, since we don’t have cable at home.

Which reminds me…does the MBTA have a BlackBerry app?  I sure could use one, so I can see the schedules.

Mike is such a good husband!  He doesn’t really understand why I want toys like this, but he gets them for me anyway!

Also that weekend, we officially became Fisher Cats season ticket holders.  I hadn’t even known that they were on sale for next year yet, not until we saw an ad on the video board about a “season ticket table” on the concourse.  So we sought out said table, and signed up.  Mike and I had talked about doing this for a while now, as we go there so much as it is, and it really is our favorite ballpark.  We have a mini-plan there now for all Sunday home games, but we wanted more.  We also have our favorite seats, and it’s been frustrating to try to get them when we bought tickets not in the mini-plan.  Often we do, sometimes, we can’t.  So now we bought them, and we will hug them and love them and squeeze them and call them George.

And, dammit, tomorrow night’s game will be the LAST time that I will ever have to stand in line with the general riff-raff to get a bobblehead when they are giving them away.  It’s Kevin Youkilis bobblehead night, and I’m going to be there ASAP to get mine!  But as full season ticket holders, we get to jump the line and get the goods 30 minutes before the general riff-raff.  Neener, neener, neener.

Last Thursday, we went to a concert at the Fisher Cats ballpark – 1964 – The Tribute.  This is a Beatles tribute band, and they were awesome.  Don’t tell anyone, but I would have gladly paid more than the ten bucks that the tickets each cost for this show.  And we probably will; in January they are returning to Manchester to play at the Palace Theatre.  We plan on being there.

This past Sunday, we went to the PawSox game.  It was fun seeing Red Soxer Dustin Pedroia doing a rehab sting, but frankly, this is NOT our favorite ballpark.  It’s okay, but we’ve agreed that Pawtucket is a shit town, and most of the rest of Rhode Island isn’t that great, either.  Plus, they are too kid-centric at that ballpark; they only give out their bobbleheads to kids 14 and under.  Everyone else gives them to fans of all ages, as long as they arrive in time to get one.  I don’t think we’ll miss McCoy Stadium all the much should we not bother to go back next year.  We will be too busy with our Fisher Cats season tickets, anyway.

One thing I WILL miss about going down that way is the British Beer Company.  We had been stopping at the one in Walpole, MA, on the way home from the PawSox, as it’s pretty much on the way.  Another sucky thing about Pawtucket is that there are really no decent restaurants there; I guess if you want a good meal in the Ocean State, you have to go into Providence, where we’ve found that you have to take out a bank loan to park.  Who do they think they are, Boston?  And half of the decent places offer only valet parking, which I absolutely HATE.  I think you know why, I’m not about to turn over the Cat-mobile keys to some pimply teenager who looks like he just got his license yesterday, to park it in some unknown and possibly illegal space, where it could be towed and then cause more problems for us.  No thanks.  Self-park at a reasonable fee, no blocking, no having to give keys to an attendant, or we just don’t go there.

So the BBC in MA has become our go-to place when we are down that way.  Great food, great beer selection.  The only annoying thing about the trip there was getting gas on the way; we stopped at this Mobil station and the receipt printer at the pump seemed to be busted; this sort of thing annoys Mike more than it does me. But it annoys me when he bitches about it as if it were some serious tragedy.

So we’re going to the Fisher Cats game tomorrow night.  Since it is a weeknight game, I’m going up on the bus, and Mike will meet me there.  Makes more sense than his getting out of work early, coming home to get me, and then going back the way he came, past his work, to get to Manchester.  When we have season tickets next year, I am going to need a discounted buss pass, which they do offer.

Well, that’s about it for the moment!

I have recurring dreams in which I’m forever trying to get out of going to school.  Why, I don’t know, because I haven’t been to school in 15 years.  In the dreams, I am almost always wearing a Catholic school uniform (I spent nine years in Catholic school back in the day).  And I’m almost always sneaking regular clothes and makeup into my backpack, then I’d find a place to change.  After that I’d usually go to a bar.

I’m never sure how old I am in these dreams, because the bartenders always serve me, never asking to see my I.D.  But I’m always living at home with my parents, who are the ones forcing me to go to school.

Anyhoo, in this particular dream, I was cheating at Foursquare.  My phone does not have GPS, so it’s easy to cheat if I wanted to (but in real life, I don’t cheat).  I was sitting at this bar called Quigley’s, which was a real place that I used to hang out in when I lived and worked in Washington, D.C.  I don’t know if it’s even there anymore.  But I was drinking a beer and checking-into school, so that my parents would think that I was there.  Another weird thing – in the dreams, I never get in trouble for cutting school.

Back in the days when I was still wearing a school uniform, there were no cell phones, no Foursquare, no Facebook or Twitter – hell, Al Gore hadn’t even invented the internet yet.  Even more weirdness.

Well, I can’t say I’ve taken it that far, but once I came pretty close.  Some of you long-time readers know of The Applebee’s Saga, but for you newbies (welcome to all new Facebook friends!), I will relate the tale again, something I really never get tired of doing.

Years ago, Mike was a grad student at MIT, and I was working a series of shit  jobs, one of said jobs as a cook at the local Crapplebee’s in our shit town.  This place was a hellhole from the get-go, but I tried to make it work, we needed the money.

Getting a day off for anything was like pulling teeth.  I had managed to snag tickets to both home games of the 1997 Red Sox playoffs, the first round.  Tickets were a lot cheaper back then, but it was still a bit of a stretch for us.  But we’ve skimped and saved and cut back on fun stuph for a long time, we felt we deserved a treat.  So I put in for the two days off, and made the mistake of telling the boss that we had the playoff tickets.  I guess I was just excited about it.  But looking back, I would have kept that under wraps.

Why?  Because the kitchen manager told me that I could have the days off.  But then, when the schedule went up, guess who was scheduled to work on those two days?  Yes, yours truly.  When I complained to the manager dude, he said that there was nothing he could do, and actually asked if he could have my tickets?  What a seriously large pair of gonads HE had!

I told him to stick it, that I was going to the games whether he gave me the time off or not, and if he wanted a full staff, he’d change the schedule, or else he’d be shirt-handed and have to *yikes* actually work the line himself.

We went to the games, the Sox were eliminated, but at least we got to go.

But it doesn’t end there.  Further down the road, one night there was a call for me from Beth Israel Hospital in Boston.  Mike, who I was not yet married to at the time, just a-shackin’ up, had suffered a heart attack at MIT and was at Beth Israel.  At first, the Crapplebee’s people were nice, told me to go and not to worry about work.  So I did.

He was in the CCU for almost a week.  When he finally came to and was moved to a regular room, I decided to call Crapplebee’s to return to work, because we needed the money.  I made it clear from the get-go that I only wanted to work part time, no closing for a while, not until Mike was up and about again.  They agreed to that, so I went back.

It didn’t take long to see what lying sacks of shit they were.  They promised just a few days a week, no late nights, they had me for closing every night that week!  It was just too much.  I was at the hospital in the daytime, working at night, and sleeping never.  The place closed at midnight, I was clocked out automatically at midnight, but was usually there until 1-2 AM cleaning (for free).

Then, one day at the hospital, the doctor wanted to release Mike.  We did not have a car at the time, so this would be time-consuming, I had to go home and get clothes and stuff, and then we’d have to go home in a cab.  I called Crapplebees, told them that I was needed because Mike was being released.  The new kitchen manager, some bitch named Gayle (the guy who tried to steal my Sox tickets had since left), said no, not unless I find my own replacement.  To appease her, I called the people who were not already working, both said no.  I could not blame them.  I called Gayle the Bitch back and told her, too bad, you knew my situation when you made the schedule, not my problem that you have me working almost 24/7.  I told her I was sorry I even agreed to come back.  She told me I had to come in anyway, and then I hung up on her.

I went and did what I had to do.  Then I went back to work the next night, the bitch hadn’t fired me because she needed her little slave.  But the working conditions got worse and worse.

It all came to a head on one Sunday night.  Gayle was not there; the manager on duty was some other jerk who hated me for taking time off for family issues and such.  For all I knew, his ass had to get behind the line when I wasn’t there.  Business was very slow, so slow that this manager cut half the wait staff, and sent everybody in the kitchen home except me and this new guy who was on his second day.  Even the dishwasher.  This pissed me off, because that meant more unpaid slavery (anything past midnight was unpaid, as I mentioned before).

Then it got busy.  So busy, that the manager jerk and the servers kept coming back and yelling at me for not getting the food out fast enough.  The new guy was useless, so I was pretty much working all of the stations, kind of like how Bugs Bunny played all nine positions in that cartoon, Baseball Bugs.  Too bad I’m not nearly as fast and adept as Bugs.

Something in me finally snapped.  In the middle of all of this mayhem, I quietly walked off the line, went to the back room, got my jacket and my bag, and then proceeded to walk out of the restaurant, right through the crowded dining room.  The jerk manager went after me, begging me to stay, promising that he’d do what he needed to do to help me.  Yeah, this was the same jerk who was yelling at me five minutes ago for not being fast enough, and encouraging his servers to do the same.

I stopped for a moment, turned around, and flipped him the bird, holding that hand as high in the air as possible.  I also loudly said the two words that go with bird-flipping.  I made sure that everyone in that dining room saw and heard it.  Then I turned around and walked out the door, head held high.

I needed a beer after that.  It never really occurred to me to grab a beer from the Crapplebee’s bar, and there would have been no way to get in there, grab one, and leave, without getting caught.  So I went to this Malden townie dive bar that was a block or two away, the Dockside, to have a beer.  Or two or nine.  At least they had Sam Adams Boston Lager on tap, that was good enough for me.  I drank, got drunk, and then called a cab to go home.

Although we needed the money, Mike was not angry at me for quitting the way I did.  He thought it was cool, he knew how badly I was being treated and agreed that they deserved it.  We’d figure out how to get by, it’s not like we needed to buy expensive modern couches or stuph like that.

And we did bounce back.  I got not one, but two new jobs the next week.  I worked both for a time, quit one of them and just worked the other one, and then quit that one due to being treated badly.  That’s another story that some of you already may know about.   But by then, Mike had finished his degree and had gotten a good job, so there was no need for me to deal with this crap any longer.

So, tonight, I will raise a good craft beer, in honor of Steven Slater.  He’s done what so many of us want to do.  I know exactly where he is coming from!

I was a bit bummed that not only did we not do anything on Thursday, but that we had NO baseball scheduled over the coming weekend.  No one was in town, or if they were in town, nothing but crappy seats, right?

Not so fast!  Something told me to check the Sea Dogs site again, and I found that they’d released some box seat tickets that were not there before.  I grabbed a pair for us for Saturday, and THEN decided to worry about where to stay that night, or if we were just gonna go up for the day, drive home, and then drive back up that way to go the the Seashore Trolley Museum in Kennebunk, as Mike had been looking forward to for ages.

I tried to get a room at the Inn at St. John, our preferred lodgings in Portland.  No luck, all they had left was one room with a twin bed and the bathroom in the hall.  Not gonna work.

Then I considered staying in York Beach, with our friends Dan & Danielle.  Their house was once a bed & breakfast, and Mike and I got married there.  The picture here is of us, and Dan, who is also a JP and officiated our wedding.  It took place in the garden at their house.  But Dan & Danielle are going out of the lodging business, the house is for sale, and they have plans to downsize and move to a smaller home in the area.  I wasn’t even sure if  they were still taking guests this year any longer, but I messaged Danielle on Facebook to ask.

Then I’m thinking, of course they are not taking guests, they are staging the house for sale.  I messaged Danielle again to say “never mind”, and booked a room at the LaQuinta in Portland, the next closest place to the ballpark.

So, after we packed our stuph, and I made sure I had plenty of Amazon books loaded up on my Kindle (the Trolley Museum gets VERY boring after not so long for me, I’d DIE without stuph to read!), we headed up north to Maine.

We stopped in Kittery, at Robert’s Maine Grill, for lunch.  Afterward, as we were getting into the car to complete the journey to Portland, I checked my phone (which I always silence when we are in restaurants), and there was a Facebook message from Danielle.  Yes, we could have a room, she said, but not “our” room, because someone else was in it.  “Our” room was the one they gave us the very first time we stayed there, when we got married, and they have always given it to us every time we’ve come, unless someone else got it first.

I called and got their voicemail, but said that YES, we’d be coming; we’re in Kittery, we’d be there very soon.  Then I called the LaQuinta and canceled the reservation there; luckily I could cancel before 6PM and not have to pay.

So we went to Dan & Danielle’s house, and they were at home when we got there.  Dan explained to us that the couple who was in “our” room had just been married by Dan, nearly ten years to the day of our own wedding!  We met them, they were a very nice older couple.  I could not help but think that it was somehow appropriate for this couple to just be married by Dan, and have “our” room.  Maybe it would bring them as much good luck and happiness as it has brought us all of these years.

After we lugged our stuph up to the room…two flights of stairs…I can see why they’d want to sell, as we don’t do stairs as well as we once did, either…we headed up to Portland for the Sea Dogs game.  It was fun, even though the Sea Dogs lost.

The next morning, we lugged our stuph back down the stairs and out to the car, and then found Dan & Danielle, and asked what we owed them for our stay.  I never remember, and they never took credit cards.  We’d just show up and write a check for however much they said it was; they trusted us not to write rubber checks.  It was never a lot; this place was always a HUGE bargain, for being so close to the beach and all.

But this time, Dan said that we owed him nothing; our stay, which is likely to be our final stay there, was on the house, as a tenth anniversary present.  He and Danielle told us to take the money and go out to dinner.  We never expected this, but how nice was that?

We did go to the Trolley Museum, I did get bored and read stuph on my Kindle, and we did try to go to Federal Jack’s, which is what Mike bribes me with in exchange for being dragged to the Trolley Museum.  But there was absolutely NO place to park there, so we decided to try the new Sebago brewpub on Route One in Kennebunk.  This was a great place, we’d definitely go back there.

So this is the end of an era…no more Homestead Inn Guest House for us.  With any luck, the house will be sold before the end of the summer, and they will be moving to their new digs.  Maybe the new owners will operate an inn there, but it will never be the same.  Dan & Danielle were the heart and soul of the place, without them, there is no reason to stay there any longer.

But, as I said, they will be staying in the area, and we’ll stay in touch, and come up to visit them when they move to their new home.  Houses may come and go, but good friends are forever.

Still, I’m tearing up a bit as I type this.  But if the Homestead Inn had to end, I could not imagine a more perfect ending for it.  We got to celebrate ten years of marriage there.  We got to meet a couple who stayed in “our” room and were newlyweds.  I feel sad and happy at the same time; does that make sense?

I think it does.

And once again, it was nothing, just the damned anxiety again.  And once again, the doctor told me that I had to call Lahey’s headshrinker department to get happy pills to put an end to this; regular docs there will not prescribe them.  I have to “talk to someone” even though there really is nothing to talk about – this just comes and goes and no one seems to know why.

I’m also afraid to talk to some headshrinker or social worker because I don’t trust them as a whole.  I’m afraid that someone will take what I do say and twist it to make me think that there’s a problem.  For instance, if I say that Mike came home from work in a bad mood because his boss is a jerk, and yelled at me, as has happened, it may be twisted to make it look as if he were beating me or something.  If I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, trip on a cat, fall, and get a bruise, the night before an appointment, I fear they’ll not believe me about the cat-tripping, (which, BTW, is something that has really happened).  Sometimes these shrinks just like to see bad stuff when there is nothing to see, and do more harm than good.

But I’m gonna have to suck it up and make an appointment, because this going to the ER thing has gotten very old.  I’ll call on Monday.  I’ll just have to be VERY careful as to what I say.  The truth is that nothing specific happens to trigger the anxiety attacks, they just come out of nowhere.  I suspect it might be hormones, I’ve mentioned this to my own doctor, the ER doc, etc, but they still say I have to talk to the headshrinkers to get the damned happy pills.  I’ll just tell them that the anxiety comes out of nowhere, for no reason, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  Nothing more to see here, just give me a damned scrip so that I can stay out of your ER.  kthxbai.

Somehow, I doubt it will be that easy, if it were, the regular doc could just write the scrip and send me on my happy little way.  Not gonna happen, though.  I’ll just have to go, waste an hour of my life each time I need a scrip renewal sitting on some shrink’s Hon office furniture, and talk about nothing.  Why does it have to be such a pain in the ass?

Anyhoo, I was sprung on Tuesday afternoon.  On Wednesday night, we went to the Fisher Cats game.  I had them put an announcement about our 10th wedding anniversary (which was actually on Thursday) on the video board to surprise Mike; I tried to get a pic of it when it was posted, but I forgot to turn the flash off so it didn’t come out.  But it was still nice.

We didn’t do anything on the actual anniversary; Mike doesn’t like to go to restaurants on Thursday/Friday/Saturday nights because they are too noisy and crowded.  I would not have minded it, though, and felt a little sad that we didn’t go anywhere.  It did not trigger an anxiety attack, though.  Another thing I won’t be telling the headshrinker.  That may be enough for them to make me talk to a counselor at a battered women’s shelter for sure, and if I don’t, then they’ll take away my happy pills and then I’ll have nasty symptoms from that!

Yes, you can tell I don’t trust these people.  They have way too much power.  Once you go on anti-depressants, you’re not supposed to stop taking them cold turkey, or else there are nasty side effects.  You’re supposed to taper off.  But I’m still afraid of saying anything, being forced to do stuff or talk to people I don’t want or need to talk to, or else no more pills.  I don’t want the heart attack symptoms anymore, I don’t want to go to the ER for this anymore, but I also don’t want people to ASSume stuff that is not so, based on anything I tell them.

I hate this crap.  I wish there were a way to deal with this without meds.  I’ve tried various things, nothing works.  I have to get the meds.

But nobody ever said that I had to like it.

I actually thought about getting tickets for tonight’s Fisher Cats game.  But when I went to their website to see what was available, they had nothing left but cheapy crap seats.  It never ends well when we decide to sit in the cheap seats, we always end up escaping to the Sam Adams Bar & Grill.  Always too many misbehaving kids in cheap-seat-land.

Probably just as well we didn’t go, I probably needed to get some more rest before we go tomorrow – when we’ll have “our” seats; the ones we’re getting season tickets for next year.  It’ll be nice to be able to go whenever we want to, without having to worry about whether our favorite seats are available or not.

So we were gonna go out to Carrabba’s to eat.  But I slept a lot of the day, and when I woke up, I didn’t feel like going anywhere.  So we just ended up getting Papa Gino’s pizza delivered.

I hope we can get an early start tomorrow.  The ball game starts at 1:35, but the Sam Adams bar opens at 11:35, a whole hour before the rest of the ballpark opens.  I really enjoy sitting in there before the games, watching batting practice and such.  So we’d have to leave here by 10:30 or so.  I think I can get Mike to go along with this, as he’s seen that the earlier we leave, the less traffic we have to deal with on a Sunday.  When we went to the PawSox game last Sunday, we made sure to get there early, because Josh Beckett of the Red Sox was doing a rehab start.  If we didn’t get there early, we’d have to park a mile away, because the game was sold out.  There was hardly any traffic at all the whole way down there.

Anyway, whatever bug this was that I had, I think I caught it on the MBTA on Tuesday night.  We went to this All-Star Party thingy at Jerry Remy’s that night, and we took the T because driving and parking in Boston is a major pain in the ass.  There are so many skeevy people on the T, it’s easy to catch stuff there.  I’m surprised Mike didn’t catch anything, either; I hope he doesn’t.

And I gotta ride the T again on Wednesday, but Mike doesn’t.  We’re going to another Fisher Cats game; they are playing the Sea Dogs (minor league Red Sox).  During the week, it makes no sense for Mike to leave early, drive home down I-93 South to come and get me, and then backtrack up I-93 North to Manchester.  He works in Andover, a straight shot up I-93 North from here.  So I just give him his game ticket and the parking voucher, and I go up on the Boston Express Bus out of South Station.

But in these cases, I’m on the MBTA during non-rush hour, not like it was on Tuesday night when the damned Green Line train was packed like a can of sardines.  There’s plenty of room, I don’t have to have germy people sitting two inches away from me.  Also, it’s easier to deal with the stink factor when it’s not crowded.

The Boston Express Bus is pretty nice, no skeevy people on it that I’ve ever seen.  I still wish they had a train that went up there, like the Downeaster that goes up to Portland, but this bus isn’t bad, and it has free WiFi.  At least it’s supposed to, but last time, it didn’t work.  But I was planning to leave the netbook at home this time and just bring the Kindle, that way, I don’t have to bring such a big bag, my little Red Sox purse would be big enough.  If I want to update Facebook, I can do it from my phone.  If I’m lucky I can get a seat with a power outlet at the window, they have those so that people can keep their phones and laptops charged up.

I picked this game to go to because it’s the closest to our 10th wedding anniversary, which is actually on Thursday, but sadly, the Fisher Cats go on the road that day.  None of the other ballparks we go to are as easy to get to in the middle of the week, and besides, we like the Fisher Cats best, anyway.

When you hang out at anyplace often enough, you get to know a lot of the people who work there.  So I’ve gotten to know some of the Fisher Cats staff, even became friends with some on Facebook.  Anyway, I asked this guy Erik, who works in the Fisher Cats front office, how I’d go about getting a message put on the video board for Wednesday night’s game.  he just said to tell him what I wanted to say, and he’d take care of it for me.  So there will be a special 10th anniversary message for Mike from me sometime during the 5th inning; I’ll try to get a picture of it if I can.

No staying up all night tonight for me, as I want to get out of here by 10:30AM.  Hopefully I can sleep without the use of NyQuil; it does work for sleeping, but it’s damned hard to wake up the next day.

Don’t even know if I can sit up and listen to the rest of this Fisher Cats game.  Maybe I’ll just take the netbook and earbuds to bed and listen until I finally nod off.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day!

My tummy has been bothering me, and I’m not sure why.  Took a Pepcid, it helped.  Taking Sudafed to keep the sinus drainage from getting down there, helps a little.  Threw up after cleaning up cat gack, even that helped a little.  But I’m still not all that great.

I certainly don’t need any fda approved diet pills, I haven’t really eaten anything since Tuesday night.

Maybe tonight, I’ll be able to get some sleep, I certainly didn’t last night!