Why am I still up at seven minutes to midnight? Why are my fingers still working? My brain feels like my frontal lobes are full of steel wool, and I weep for my bed, as the deer pants for the water.
I guarantee no coherency.
I had half a T-Bone tonight, and some pasta that the wife attempted faux Stroganoff with, and it was lovely. The kids were enraptured. The wife was pleased. I took a half of a Benadryl, and I can already feel the rats chewing at my brain. Two Tylenol will knock me out. I am a cheap drug date.
I actually left my hermitage today, and ventured into civilization. Still don't like it. But beer is good. Plus, I needed a haircut. It is worth the high dollar to pay for a pro. The wife could not keep her hands off it. And the kids really admired it.
Am I still awake? Crap. Benadryl...taking over mind...
So, what are you still doing up? Have I made any spelling errors? Fukkit. I'll check tomorrow. I told my beautician what I did for April Fools, and she whacked me in the head with the scissors like my Mom used to do when I wriggled while getting a trim from her.
So, can I go to bed now?