Fucked up in Florida

Yesterday I went to sleep for the first time in two days. Apparently, the Wellbutrin I just started taking for Mad Cow Disease (otherwise known as raging PMS) can lead to insomnia, possibly maybe.

FORTY-ONE HOURS LATER, I went to sleep for seven hours, until I was gently awakened by "I HAVE TO GO PEE ON THE POTTY!" and had several confused flashbacks to my college years until I realized it was the newly potty-trained Pee Pee The Kid.

During the worst of it ("Captain's Log, Stardate 42477.2 - I am talking into my right hand... at ...5am".) I decided to watch a film or two. The boyfriend had recently given me a stack of DVD's, because my favorite mental-break-me-time is losing myself in a two hour movie. Sadly, the movie I pulled out was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and I spent the next two hours enjoying my insomnia while feeling like I was on a combination of acid, cocaine, and mescaline, surrounded by my own hallucinations. I can only recommend you watch this film while well-rested. ("Captain's Log, Supplemental - We had ..no idea ...that Mary found Star Trek jokes so ...entertaining.")

Apart from a bad turn with the Night Crazies, I am feeling so much better. I took my rage out on my bathroom floor on Sunday, armed with a small brush and a bucket of diluted Mr. Clean. Why is Mr. Clean a man? Why isn't it Miss Clean? How many men have ever actually thought about cleaning and proactively gone out and purchased Mr. Clean? If pressed to clean, I'm sure a man would make do with shampoo on an old stinky sponge.

"What? It's good enough for your hair, but not good enough for our floor? Come on, its purpose is to clean. I did what you asked me to do. Lemme go watch the game."