Among other things.
I have the flu. It is a bad flu. Everything hurts, even my lips. And somehow I have to get myself presentable enough to go to Walmart, which may seem like a contradiction to some, given the menagerie of Moreau victims you generally find at any given Walmart, but if you could see what I look like right now, you'd agree that something needs to be done about me. So I'm going to take a shower and hope the shampoo doesn't hurt.
One of my hedgehogs gave birth to SEVEN FREAKING BABIES the other day, ZOMG! That's a Hedgie Mama record! Another little girl is ready to pop any second now.
The Assistant From Hell is still employed, despite numerous outbursts, slammed doors, demons invoked upon the souls of everyone in management from the depths of the toilet in the third stall of the ladies' room, etc. BUT, she has been given an Official Final Written Warning. ONE more episode, ONE more day of excessive cell-phone time while she's on the clock, ONE more day of me having to correct 50% of what she does for a living, and she's toast. It's only a matter of time. She can't hold out.
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