Good mornbleagh.

My diabolical plan to get a good night's sleep ran into a snag a little before six, when I was awakened by the sound of my digestive tract. Seriously, my stomach was making the sorts of noises normally reserved for garbage disposals and/or the Elder Gods. I hied myself to the lavatory, where I've since spent considerably more of my time than is to my liking. And a hi-ho good morning to you, too, Body.

So I've since called in sick, and am currently holed up and imblanketed in my room praying that this is just a temporary bit of food poisoning while I watch the latest round of snow come careening down in yet another demonstration of the gods' cruel sense of humor. Something tells me that there's a spate of Netflix in my future.

Speak to me

Since I'm all bedridden and such, and a sizable portion of my f'list is snowbound or about to be, it might be a good time to revive this one:

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