Here's a picture of the last 24 hours of my life: The cats fight. Bad. Bad enough that it's one of the rare times I feel I must intervene. I try to lift Billie out of Simon's reach. For my trouble, Billie sinks her teeth into my arm, leaving a few nice punctures. (My friend suggested I go get a tetanus shot. But right now, a nice bout of lock-jaw sounds like fun.) So I while was trying to NOT snap that little bitch-troll cat's (I really do love her, except for the screeching, biting banshee bits) neck in half I yelled at Simon for starting the fight in the first place. 

Meanwhile, this funky allergy/cold thing I've been dealing with for a week or so kicks into high gear again. After going through half a roll of toilet paper (guess who forgot to get tissues?), I gave up and went to bed. While I was reading my book, my nose started bleeding. I don't get nosebleeds. I've had ONE nosebleed in my life and it took a well-thrown softball to do it. After several minutes, I get the nosebleed under control and then, completely stressed out, cry myself to sleep. 

Simon always sleeps with me, but he was so freaked out over the whole fight with Billie and my being freaked out that he couldn't sleep. Any time anyone or anything moved, he'd jump. At 2:15 a.m. I was wide awake, trying to soothe him so he might get just a little bit of rest. However, I did NOT go back to sleep, except for a brief trip to REM around 4:30.

My new recurring dream played, the one where I'm driving and there's this old man driving a beat-up Lexus with two old women riding with him. He keeps weaving and driving erratically and I'm trying to pass him. I find an opening and start go go for it, only to have him cut me off and stop in front of me. Now, every other time I've had that dream (about 4-5 times in the last week or so), I've stopped in time. In this morning's edition, I collide with him. Then I woke up.

So, except for that little 15 minute nap, I've not slept since 2:15 this morning. I'll skip over the part of going to work today other than I felt like shit which made it a very very long day. I finally get home after stopping for Chinese (when I have a cold, I crave hot and sour soup by the bucket). I'm in the middle of enjoying my supper when Simon horks up a massive hairball. Trouble is, he decided to wait until after he had inhaled his supper to hork said hairball. And he doesn't just pull up and gack. No. Simon projectile vomits: a bit here, a bit there, some over there, more over here...so I've spent the last 25 minutes consoling him and cleaning up partially-digested Prescription Diet kibble in the bedroom, hallway and living room (of course he can't spew the cheap stuff...it HAD to be the Prescription Diet).

And wouldn't you know it, Simon is complaining about being hungry.

NOW GROOVIN' TO: It's O.K. from the album "Crack In The System" by Dead Moon