Bed rest? Bed rest?! Do they think i have NOTHING better to do with my life than lie in BED?!?!
Dearly beloveds, pray for the Peep, for she ails.
I have a sore throat, a snotty nose, red eyes, and a splitting headache. And I spend most of my day standing in front of a mirror looking for dengue-symptomatic rashes. It is not a happy time.
I have my own rehearsals, which I am missing. I'm telling you, they can't do without me, there. And I'm missing rehearsals of Squee's play too, where I'm helping out - generally. They can't do without me either. Honest. [Hey, the LEAST you can do is indulge a sick ol' friend, who, for all you know has given her life up to a swarm of mosquitoes with ugly names].
Incidentally, I have ogled at a pair of Biceps with watery eyes, sniffing next to me at the Doc's chamber. As in, the watery eyes belonged to person with biceps - the biceps themselves didn't have eyes on them. I had eyes on the biceps. Oh dear, too much the head aches after excitement.
Of course, this is a good time to work on my litcrit assignment, but tell to me, does any of this make the vaguest sense to you?
1. Theorist as artist
2. Theorist as criminal
3. After theory
I'm not kidding, if you know what these phrases mean, feel free to help. I haven't for the life of me any idea. Shotyi bolchhi, I might not pass the lit theory paper. Oh god, oh dear god. Too much chinta in my life!