the Dalaverse

Threw up for the second time in two and a half hours. It's gross and that's really all that needs to be said about that, except that twice probably means it wasn't caused by bad Chik-fil-a or strawberries (which are less than a week old and which didn't make the roomie sick) but by actually being sick. Haven't been sick in over a year -- I specifically remember the last time I threw up because I was at work and I couldn't leave because Gail didn't know how to shut down the computer, and then I couldn't go with Dad and the kids to D.C. the next day. It must have been some time in the spring. So yeah, more than a year, and I hate being sick and I've gotten sick pretty rarely since I was twelve, which I honestly believe has to do with my parents quitting smoking and thus allowing my immune system to do what it's supposed to do.

Fuck it, I have a paper to revise for tomorrow and a ten-page paper to write for the day after, plus the Nader essay which is now two weeks late, plus two exams, one of which is a particularly bitchy variety of art history because it's non-Western art and I've got a crap memory for stuff I'm unfamiliar with. And abstract art! I fucking hate abstract art, I don't care how significant it is -- I wanted to study Vermeer, dammit.

I may have to write a very detailed account of pregnant!Will with morning sickness because it'll make me feel better.

Oh, and a Happy Birthday to guede_mazaka who is awesome and very lucky to be all finished with freshman year and I'll have something better to say when I feel normal again.

Bed is looking very fair, but I'll listen to a little more Nick Drake first. He's my nap music. Which is not to say that he's boring, he's just unbelievably soothing.

Sigh.

"Gilmore Girls" was absolutely fantastic tonight, but I'm too wibbly to write a sensible review. Just this: I, like Kirk, love you, Luke Danes.

Would very much like to be home now for sickly cuddling. Over-the-phone doesn't work too well. My mother dismissed it as brought on by some kind of food I've eaten; Daddy said, "Oh. Are you studying?" Yes, Dad. I took my art history notes into the bathroom with me and propped them up on the toilet piping.

Quiet hours start in half an hour, so at least I'll be able to get some fucking sleep.

I wish I hadn't taken all my comfort books home. No Little Prince, no Girl Goddess #9, no Traveling Pants, no Jurassic Park, no Giving Tree, no Tamora Pierce, no Sara Crewe. Oh, and no ginger ale. Want ginger ale.

Freely admitting that I'm a total whiny baby when I'm unwell. Can I blame that on being an only child? That's what I blame everything else on, good or bad.

Windows Media Player has the prettiest battery visualization right now -- all white and soft pink and pale blue.

I should really go to bed. Screw running in the morning; I'll be lucky if I can drag my ass out of bed at all.