Jagermeister + Decongestant=zzzzzzzzzzz
It's 1:00pm. I am still floating around my office like a zombie, and I can't get any real work done. The only thing I can think of that makes me happy today (other than bed) is the heat. That's a bad sign. I'm not even within Mazlow's hierarchy. I'm still in the elementals.
To what do I owe this muzzyheaded frug? No, it's not the utter confusion wrought by libertarian politics and conservative Christianity. It's NYQUIL. Specifically, the dose I took eighteen hours ago. Like a second cousin with a gambling addiction and bad personal hygiene it stays longer than you want it to and the effects of its visit linger on. At Writer's Workshop they will tell you to write when you are compromised. While this explains a heck of a lot about James Joyce and Patricia Cornwell, I don't feel that it helps me personally.
Is it too early to go back to sleep?