I’m sick. I lost my voice yesterday and found parts of it scattered about today. Doolies thinks I sound like a Munchkin, which I find difficult to believe. Why do woman’s voices become sexier when sick but men turn into creatures from Oz?

Following my evening dosing of Nyquil, I’ve gone to bed at around eight for the past four nights. This leaves me about an hour and a half to watch a couple episodes of Buffy (yes, I’m re-addicted to the show, working my way through the sixth season, which has some amazing episodes and some downright terrible ones; the subject matter is darker, but I find myself fast forwarding through the bad episodes—I don’t think I’ve done that for any of the other seasons), eat dinner, chat (or squeak, in yesterday’s case) to the Doolies before finding the beautiful drug-addled sleep. I have not kept up with my Chinese lessons, my writing (obviously), keeping the Castle clean, or my plans to run around the park to get back into that shape thing.