Hiding under an afghan, stuffing her piehole with M&Ms. No really. I’m in my pajamas and I haven’t moved in days. I’m typing this on my laptop from my the couch at my Mom’s house, where I’ve been since Christmas. This would be understandable, but it’s not like I’ve come to visit her from my home in Paris, or something. I live fifteen minutes away.
The lethergy has taken me. Keep your eyes trained on the news. A talk show host should be by at any moment now, armed with a backhoe and a news crew and determined to remove me and send me to the fat camp where I belong.