He was climbing on my head and he slipped. God forbid he should fall those two inches onto a bed, for crying out loud. I thought cats were supposed to be surefooted and graceful. Trust me to get the two most ridiculous cats ever bred. Oliver Spoon falls off EVERYTHING. It's actually rather funny, except when it's your cheek he's used as a cling-to.

So now it's quarter to 8 in the morning and I had intended to sleep considerably longer than that. My ears are STILL plugged and my nose still running and congested, and though I feel ok, I'm pretty tired most of the time.

Oh, I made some changes on here, and I decided instead of paying two bucks (yeah, I'm cheap) to get a new guestbook, I'm using my old lintpickle guestbook, which is fine, and there are lots of great comments in there, so why lose that? So please go ahead and sign it if you like. I realized that you can only leave notes if you're a diaryland member, and I would like non-members to be able to drop me a line. Once I get the comments thing sorted too, that'll be swell, but I've just been too lazy and I would rather read my book than figure out html today.

OK then. I'm going to go and dab the blood that is still pouring from my face and get lazy. I think breakfast for Oliver Spoon can bloody-well wait.