Dear World:

I just have to tell you, I feel like someone ate me, and shit me out.
It's really bad when cold cement floors look deliciously enticing for a nap. And the only reason I didn't lie my hot head down on them is because I'm pretty sure sleeping at work in the hallways is unacceptable.
I am not myself: I don't want to watch romantic love stories, talk shit, drink myself silly, read magazines, or even eat candy. And I turned down a free lunch. And an invite for Friday afternoon shinanigans.
If you're listening, please kiss my forehead. Lie me down. Then you can be on your way.
In return, I'll try to be a better person.
Even if it means washing out the bottom of the garbage can when I notice that it's disgusting.
Your inhabitant,
e.l.s.