Seriously. As if my rage-induced insomnia isn't enough, my body has to take the on-the-fritz baton and go gallivanting off into the distance.
UGH. Can't a girl get some PEACE AND MOTHERFUCKING QUIET WITHOUT HER GODDAMN TRACHEA BECOMING A POORLY TUNED STRING QUARTET? Honestly.
If I don't make it through tonight, you guys, it's because I spontaneously combusted. I hear concentrated spite is extremely flammable.
Now where the hell is my codine-laced cough syrup...