This morning I passed out for three and a half hours. I awoke to a slight taptaptap on my cerebral cortex to realize it was the children banging my head with golf balls with requests of fruit punch.
My temperature is 103.4.
I'm having a hard time staying awake and dealing with The One Who Wants To Bite His Brother. And, really, would it be all that bad if I duct taped his mouth shut?
It's taking me over half an hour to unload and reload this dishwasher and that doesn't count breaks. Breaks. Yes, breaks. Because, you know, loading the dishwasher is that fucking difficult.
I hate being sick.