Watchmen came out on the 6th. That was…kinda a while ago, wasn’t it?
It was good. Reasonably accurate, with some glaring differences that…probably were for the best. Because the original ending was a teensy bit convoluted, and probably a little difficult to get across in only three hours.
Looking back, I probably should’ve tried to insist on not seeing it until I had painkillers, because I knew I was going to end up with a headache.
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I don’t know why, but I woke up sick about twelve hours ago, and my second trip to the bathroom ended in badness.
One minute, I was right where I belonged — on the toilet, wondering exactly how bad this was going to get. The next…I don’t know, because there’s this missing instant between that and my face hitting the door in front of me.
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Four cases of soda in my backpack. Yes. Four. And I carried it the whole way home from the store, even though Gremlin wanted to take it a few times.
…I hurt now. I am filled with regret. And warm, bleeding beef, because I got this awful craving for it a little bit ago, and just had to eat. Pain, regret and meat.
I think the waterbed wants to hold me and ease my suffering.