I'm back from New York. I am also very sick. This might be related to me living on donuts for a week, so my immune system is probable as resistant as putting a gang of crying babies in the front line of an army. That scenario would however make the film 300 MUCH funnier. I will tell more about the trip as soon as I'm well again, right now my throat hurts so much that I can't speak, and the only sign language I know are the signs for menstruation and rabbit. Everyday conversation, that is. So for the next few days, I am confined to my room with a computer and a box of tissues. That sounded very wrong. Anyway, the only thing I can spend my time with is to sit by the window, watching the rain pour down and listen to love songs, but as there are a few obstacles (1. It is not raining 2. My view of romantic music is Rage against the machine) I am condemned to staring dreamily into my cat's anus while he tries to reach the piece of cat food on his foot. I should write love novels.
Today's funfact: The ancient Greeks believed that the vagina was an inverted penis, and if women ran, it could fall out. If that isn't an argument against jogging, I don't know what is.
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