Not The Lunesta Moth, Of Course

So the trees around here are having themselves a nice little orgy, and my face, as it does every spring, has decided that the only possible response to this is to seal itself off. I’m waiting for the year that I actually manage to pupate. A butterfly may not be my style, but I would make one absolutely adorable fluffy little moth.

For now, though, my face has taken on the same climate as a wetland.* And the swampularity seems to be migrating through my skull, since my brain feels pretty sluggy, too, causing me to make rambly entries like this one, when I’m not lying around reading or giving myself Nintendonitis with Super Mario Galaxy.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: blarg. I love spring, but I wish it agreed with me.


*True story: I was so miserable that I bribed my brother, with Fruity Snacks, to chop the onion for the chili I made today so I wouldn’t exacerbate the problem.