The return of the repressed, or: No Exit.

Shh, don't say anything, but I may be in a hell of recursion, wherein I get sick, sleep a lot, get better (or "better"), sleep but not quite enough, wake up feeling like contagion is lurking in every corner, then start to sneeze and sniffle and my back starts twinging. I'm just saying: can't a girl get up after almost seven hours of sleep, put on a leopard print skirt and boots, go off to work, do the full day, and not come home with the devil to pay?  

Well can't she?

America,

I would like to complain about the movie we saw tonight, but the thought of complaining about it just makes me too tired. So much stuff  getting blown up. So many car chases. So much shooting. So much/little 'comedy.'

Instead, I am going to praise three things:

1. polka dot Converse sneakers. I bought them. For myself.
2. striped boat neck tee shirts. So colorful (the link is not to the actual shirts I want to praise, because there is, inexplicably, no link to those shirts. I'm blaming the movie.).
3. fattoush. I ate it for lunch.

That is all I've got, America. That is all. I am going to read the second book of The Hunger Games trilogy, which should be more uplifting.