Okay, we had the wine last night, but the only reason I’m not having a glass now is because I have to pick up the Magpie at day care in half an hour. And, even if I made it there after a drink or two, they probably wouldn’t let me take her away. They’re appropriately anal like that.
I’m pretty sure that marshmallows don’t really do a good job of absorbing alcohol.
And I’m still tired. And sick. Because I jinxed it by saying oh, I never get sick anymore and someone looked down and started laughing. So, while a nice shiraz will help me fall asleep kick this cold later tonight, I must be patient.
But I have no more course work. I have no more company. I’m working early shifts and got home early enough to sit on my ass, catch up on my reading on the interweb and nibble on excessively sugary substances of unknown origin. I haven’t done this is a hellishly untold long time. I’m starting to see the potential to have time to book a hair appointment. Or massage. Or brow wax.
[Hm. There’s probably an appropriate order to book those in…]
Hell, were the remote control not so very far away, I could even be watching trash tv right now. As it is, I’m singing with Sarah Slean.
I feel ridiculously indulgent and am deftly smothering the twinges of guilt with extra marshmallows.