(This technically means I'm not taking more of the vacation days of which I have none left.)
(Sick leave, neither. I'm cleaned out.)
I'm also still dealing with a mean case of the insomnias; I spent last night staring at the clock, feeling uncomfortable with my tummy, my arms, and a nasty new symptom of sharp pins and needles in my right shoulder in turn, wondering if I'd be better off on the sofa, and too tired to move. Naturally, my brain was thinking up sarcastic rants at a mile a minute.
I really should just start writing them down, since I thought that I came up with some particularly incisive and funny stuff, but I've done this before, and I know from past experience that I can never remember exactly what it was I thought was so clever, just the general subject. Last night's was an epic rant on fast food advertising and the general insanity with which the advertising industry approaches food (best described as the kind of love/hate relationship immortalized by the Montagues and the Capulets, or maybe the Hatfields and McCoys, in that everyone loves to hate what they're fascinated by, can't live without it, and everyone dies in the end), but most of it was gone by the time I woke up properly.
Of course, my insomnia-addled brain could just be fooling me; I write symphonies in my sleep, too. Last night I wrote a symphony, attended a Billy Joel concert, stopped some people from walking around my house because they thought it was a tourist destination, and all this was happening at the house my mother lives in in London. It's right by a park, which is where the concert was being held.
So, you see, my brain could be thinking I'm brilliant, and what I'm really thinking up is something on the level of "so what about that advertising? Strange, huh? Go figure", with no actual joke at all. I can't tell.
All I know is my tummy hurts (we both have it, whatever it is; Merry Christmas to us), and my brain has possibly turned on me.
If I wake up tomorrow and my brain has crawled out of my ear and is typing merrily away on the computer, I'll know for sure.
At least with my brain gone I'll still be able to go to work.
Or I could send my brain in my place; slap a little mascara on, and no-one will notice the difference.