Stay-in-Bed Lady

There are days I want nothing more than to hide out in bed with a bucket of chicken, far away from the outside world, and close to my meat.

There are days I feel guilty when I see my dust-gathering guitar peeking at me, asking me to use my ample time to learn how to play it.

I want to sound my barbaric yawp from the rooftops of my bed.

I woke up feeling great this morning after a night of drinking and fully credit the glutinous decision to eat a late mushroom pizza slice.

I didn’t win the lottery and was too full to finish my beer. These are exactly the kinds of scenarios that make me want to drink more beer.

I wore three pain relief patches to no avail. So nerdy. So decrepit. So sad.

I’ve just returned from Target with 20 Salonpas patches in hopes these medicated band aids will finally cure what ails me. Pretty please.

I wonder if it’s a problem to have my back hurt in three places. Did someone beat me unconcious and fail to tell me about it?

I found a long, messed up looking white hair on my clothes today and presumed it was mine but it was confirmed to be of canine origin.

I’m in desperate need of a lint roller but I’d almost rather walk around with dog fur stuck to me so I can pretend to be a dog owner. Sad.