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Tolerance is a lifetime's experience.

It's 11 o' clock in the morning, I've had 6 hours sleep, and I'm actually eating a proper breakfast of eggs, bagels, and toast. There's snow dusting outside, and I have an entire apartment to clean.

Yeah, it's one of those days.

I'm feeling pretty good today, considering my stomach's been bothering me since Wednesday, and my wrist refuses to bend certain ways or support weight without pain. I managed to avoid getting properly sick (ha, another year in my streak), even though I spent several hours Thursday in a hot zone with my friend and her family suffering/recovering from various stages of the norovirus. When her sister-in-law began complaining of symptoms and her mother-in-law came home from vomiting at the office I figured I'd better bail while my immune system was in good standing.

And behold! Victory, as I escaped with health relatively intact, or at least no worse than the stomach ache with which I arrived.

So I made it through the week, and oh, somebody (me) is going to be enjoying having a solid eight hour sleep schedule again, no more of this 2:30 alarm shit in freezing cold darkness. Call me bitter, but a wise man kills for good sleep. Those who come between us recieve no less than they deserve.

It's going to be strange being on vacation soon. It's been three years since my last extended stay away from home, and creatures of comfort like me aren't very good about them. We tend to drag half the house along for the ride and then count the days until we go back. At least I'll be traveling alone (company while traveling is generally a less than desirable element), and modern technology as made it easier than ever to bring my comforts with me. I'm not sure how I feel about flying anymore. It's been so long since I have, and while it's never bothered me, my...perspective of it has changed somewhat since then. I suppose I'll just have to see.

Ha. Actually, no, that's stupid. I've never been that weak or soft.

There is a giant fluffy shark in my bedroom corner that's calling to me rather enticingly, but alas, there is also a mountain of clean laundry on my closet floor, and a pile of books stacked around my feet, and an entire living space in need of a thorough once-twice-over before the day is up, because god help me if that lazy slob piece of shit I call a roommate will lift a finger to so much as wipe up after himself while I'm away. I'll be lucky if he at least maintains a status quo after I'm done, because it's always too much to expect him to do anything in the place unless he knows for a fact I'll be cross about it later, and yes, that does require being explicitly stated or observed beforehand to actually cross his mind.

My mother didn't raise a pig in a sty, but one must always mourn another's lack of such education.