Tonight is a lukewarm, my-stomach-feels-all-sicky kind of evening, and I get these waves of whoa where I'm pretty sure I'm going to hurl but then I'm okay. No not pregnant shut up frank. Last procedure took that opportunity away, so, and never mind, but I knew you'd ask. Of course I'm working down on the couch (I've relocated to a spacious window office with valuted ceilings called the living room) and that means I'm two feet from our three hamster cages with shavings that need changing. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's the fact that estimated tax day is right around the corner, my bank screwed up a direct deposit, I can't seem to find the passport I was going to renew, my lovely daughter's itchy from her zithromax, or the fact that you can't get anyone to take a dead Christmas Tree away from your front yard if you miss the Cub Scouts when they come to calling.
No, I'm pretty sure it's hamster urine.
