Your Lips Move, I Can't Hear What You're Saying

Horrible, crippling, chronic pain really gets tiring after a while.

I have the day off tomorrow and nothing to do so if I'm not absolutely debilitated, I'm going to spend some time lying around outside and reading for fun.

Susan and I were comparing bad roommate stories last night. She lived with a girl who had a mental freakout and started battling angels in the apartment; Susan had to call the cops, and the girl was diagnosed as schizophrenic. I told her my Katie Miller story and she said that was pretty on par, because it was so relentless. Then I told her about Lila's freshman roommate Andrea, who slept on the bottom bunk of their set of bunkbeds and who masturbated loudly while on the phone nearly every night for the entire school year because everyone was too polite to say anything. Andrea is the standard by which I compare all other bad roommates. She's winning.

I'm going back to praying for death or chocolate.