Fashion Week is over and I had all kinds of fabulous plans this weekend, none of which came to fruition, because I am lazy. I have not budged from my apartment all weekend, unless you count a toilet paper run and a trip to ‘bucks for overpriced coffee treats. Which I don’t, cuz, come on. What kind of a weekend is that?
Oh, I also bought some books. I’m reading one about premature burial right now. It’s called, as you might guess, Buried Alive and it is scaring the crap out of me. I never really thought to worry about being buried alive, but now I’m pretty sure the only sound burial plan is to be left atop a tower of silence to be picked clean by carrion birds. Either that, or decapitated. So that’s mostly what I’ve been thinking of this weekend.
I’ve also been thinking about how I’ve inadvertently become bulimic. Some weeks ago, I got the Norovirus, and ever since, I do my sea cucumber imitation every time I have spicy food, more than one cup of coffee, or any alcohol at all. It sucks and is a little scary, so I emailed my doctor to ask for DRUGS.
“SEND ME DRUGS,” I emailed her. I should just make a macro at this point. How long til she scrawls “drug-seeking behavior” at the top of my chart and tells me to fuck off? Are there other folks out there who spend this much time and energy trying to scoring Nexium?