Am sick. Have head cold. Am at nasty stage where am feeling like thousand-ton lump of lead and am talking like character in bad translation of Russian novel. Am also at work. Must somehow rouse self to go home. Must choose between walking mile home or waiting in cold for bus. Not attractive choice. Would very much like non-leftovers dinner cooked by someone else, but am aware that one last masala chicken piece remains in fridge and is cheaper and more responsible to eat that instead of picking up takeout.
Want mommy. Suspect that said mommy need not be my mommy. Suspect that anyone's mommy would do.
Am inordinately fascinated by pattern of resonaters in marimba. Suspect that cold medicine is at fault.