In today's early, cruel dawn, last night's debilitating head cold escalated into a decapitating headache that felt like I had a metal band slowly tightened around my head to the point that it was cracking my skull above my eyes. And aside from the allusion to decapitation, that description was barely an exaggeration.
And when I tried to crawl up the stairs this morning to whimper in the early, cruel, pain-exploding sunlight in the hopes of eventually going to work, I saw why my night had been so excruciating: Bitch Kitty had laid a curse--an
incatation, if you will--on me in the night. And she was waiting at the top of the stairs to watch her nefarious Grand Guignol play out to its gruesome, wailing conclusion:
But joke's on you, Bitch Kitty! I have to go to work so I can justify going to the gym to get mega-hot so I can go to Full Monty rehearsal so I can mega-sing about being mega-hot SO I FOUGHT THROUGH THE PAIN AND I WIN. This time.
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