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Note to self

Dear Self:

You may think you have fully recovered from the latest spin on the merry-go-round, but you haven't.
Giving into 11PM food cravings with a bag of Pop Secret is no longer an option.


I wish the chestbursters would just get it OVER with, but nooooooo. They have to crawl from one end to the other, doing somersaults and digging in their little clawsies all the way through like some sadistic version of Roto Rooter. If I have to feel like I'm going to throw up, why can't I?

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