Mental note: It is a bad idea to attend Mabon and participate in wild pagan dancing (as one is wont to do at these things) without having a) stretched; and b) exercised regularly in weeks prior to the ritual. Furthermore, it is not smart to spend the following day running all over creation with the Doc. Additionally, it is noted that after a day of running all over creation with the Doc, going into Philly and hoofing it through Old City and Chinatown for a few hours post-theatre show, while fun, is also decidedly not wise.
Because today? I can't walk. No, really. I CAN'T WALK. Literally, I woke up, tried to stand, and promptly FELL DOWN in pain. My calves are so, so sore. I've spent the day hobbling around the apartment like some pathetic octogenarian and trying to elicit sympathy from my paramedic roommate. Who, in turn, has shook his head and laughed at me and not once offered to bring me bon-bons or fetch me diet cokes. Instead, he keeps insisting that I should "walk it off," like THAT'S WHAT GOT ME INTO THIS MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE. Well that and the wild pagan dancing. Walk it off, indeed.
So instead I've spent the day prone on either the couch or my bed reading for school and watching season 3 of The Office. And complaining to Dill, who is very concerned. Our conversation went like this:
ME: OOOOOOOOWWW! Owie, ouch, oooh that hurts.
DILL: So I know, you can't walk at all, or that it causes you immense pain or whatever, but I'm still going to get fed, right?
ME: I did feed you.
DILL: Well, yeah. You fed me breakfast. But what about second breakfast? Elevensies? Pre-lunch? Lunch? Afternoon snack? Tea? Dinner?
ME: You don't get any of those meals. Only dinner.
DILL: BUT WHAT ABOUT DINNER?
ME: You'll get dinner when you always do-- at 5:00. Currently, it is 9:42am.
DILL: Oh fine, I suppose. Hey, I just noticed: You're lying on the couch! Let me sit on your boobs and nuzzle you!
ME: I...awwww I love you too. Cute cat.
DILL: puuuuurrrrrrrrr Hey look! A squirrel! *does flying leap off my chest to the window, using my breasts as a springboard.*
ME: Ouch! Damnit, Dill.
(10 minutes later)
DILL: So I know, you can't walk at all, or that it causes you immense pain or whatever, but I'm still going to get fed, right?
Blasted cat. Between the starvation whines (Dill, you weigh 13 pounds. You're obviously not starving, so find a new shtick) and him thinking that my toes are monsters and attacking them thusly, he hasn't been the most sympathetic companion either.
Whatever. I don't need you, roommate and cat. I have the internet to complain to. So there.
Because today? I can't walk. No, really. I CAN'T WALK. Literally, I woke up, tried to stand, and promptly FELL DOWN in pain. My calves are so, so sore. I've spent the day hobbling around the apartment like some pathetic octogenarian and trying to elicit sympathy from my paramedic roommate. Who, in turn, has shook his head and laughed at me and not once offered to bring me bon-bons or fetch me diet cokes. Instead, he keeps insisting that I should "walk it off," like THAT'S WHAT GOT ME INTO THIS MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE. Well that and the wild pagan dancing. Walk it off, indeed.
So instead I've spent the day prone on either the couch or my bed reading for school and watching season 3 of The Office. And complaining to Dill, who is very concerned. Our conversation went like this:
ME: OOOOOOOOWWW! Owie, ouch, oooh that hurts.
DILL: So I know, you can't walk at all, or that it causes you immense pain or whatever, but I'm still going to get fed, right?
ME: I did feed you.
DILL: Well, yeah. You fed me breakfast. But what about second breakfast? Elevensies? Pre-lunch? Lunch? Afternoon snack? Tea? Dinner?
ME: You don't get any of those meals. Only dinner.
DILL: BUT WHAT ABOUT DINNER?
ME: You'll get dinner when you always do-- at 5:00. Currently, it is 9:42am.
DILL: Oh fine, I suppose. Hey, I just noticed: You're lying on the couch! Let me sit on your boobs and nuzzle you!
ME: I...awwww I love you too. Cute cat.
DILL: puuuuurrrrrrrrr Hey look! A squirrel! *does flying leap off my chest to the window, using my breasts as a springboard.*
ME: Ouch! Damnit, Dill.
(10 minutes later)
DILL: So I know, you can't walk at all, or that it causes you immense pain or whatever, but I'm still going to get fed, right?
Blasted cat. Between the starvation whines (Dill, you weigh 13 pounds. You're obviously not starving, so find a new shtick) and him thinking that my toes are monsters and attacking them thusly, he hasn't been the most sympathetic companion either.
Whatever. I don't need you, roommate and cat. I have the internet to complain to. So there.
Labels: General Whining
1 Comments:
Jack and I have had many conversations like this recently. He keeps saying "I don't care if you have mono. It's seven o'clock and I get my chicken treats now. NOW!" He turns into such a little diva when he doesn't get what he wants.
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