I have one tiny spot of dry skin on the very end of my nose, and it kind of makes me look like Rudolph in a pencil skirt. It's not flattering.
My print of Cousteau came in the mail, and it looks even better than I imagined, though I do need to replace the frame I bought for it already due to scratching. I don't take very good care of my things.
The therapist through the wall is screaming at a patient, who is in turn screaming at her. I hope they're making progress.
Yesterday was remarkably and needlessly stressful thanks to Rachel. I think I might strangle her when I see her next. Tomorrow is Colleen's lamb-and-sangria birthday dinner, and her mother is coming in from Tennessee to stay with us, so I doubt things will settle at all before Friday.
My father and I visited my great-grandmother, Nana, in the hospital last night. She had a hip replaced a few months ago and has had some recent complications with blood clots. I had forgotten what a sweet, adorable old lady she is, what with her cataract eyes and penchant for butterscotch candies. As we were leaving, somebody who looked exactly like my father, except much younger, started hitting on me in front of my father. It was unsettling to say the least.
After the second morning in a row of waking up from horrible dreams with a jaw sore from clenching, I'm starting to think that maybe I shouldn't have switched brands of Sleepytime tea.
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