I wanted to title this “Striped With Radiation,” but I figure that joke loses its punch after you use it two other times in titles, right?
Ugh, this sucks. I slept with cold, wet washcloths draped over my arms. I can’t stop thinking about lowering myself down into a tub of ice and sitting there until every last piece melts around me. I have to laugh derisively at myself when I look at my legs against my arms. The combination looks like a freaking White Stripes album.
I’m having a hard time finding the motivation to get off my ass and take a shower so I can go to the grocery. Heroes returns tonight, which means Phil will be coming over to cook for Jamie and me, and I’ll sit and make fun of them for watching such a shitty, consistently anti-climactic primetime soap opera. I think tonight we’re having some kind of herb chicken bake (fresh from the box!) and I’m going to open a bottle of Primitivo to see if its Zinny goodness can take me to my happy place.
And then I’m going to sleep like a corpse.
Do not mock the Heroes.