My throat feels like I swallowed the shag rug from Robert Evans' swank pad after an orgy around the hookah.
Add to that the fact that I'm under an intense deadline and that Gert has been up the past two nights puking, and you have me right now. I'm exhausted, feel like crap and haven't slept well for the last few days. I'm plugging my way toward my deadlines while I'd much rather be asleep while I wait for the scream of urgency from the next room signaling another round of Captain Vomit reporting to duty.
Send help.
And a haz mat suit.
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