Push Me, Pullman

The van door finally refuses to shut. After months of fighting it the van has finally won. It always wins. I think either the bar is bent or there is some road debris blocking the track. Whatever it is it’s sure to be 500 out of my pocket. Oh, how I hate the van.

Worst than that I’m getting sick. Some allergy thing with the congestion and the coughing and the yellow pussy FLEMWADS! (Reread in Prof. Frink voice.) To battle that I’ve been taking generic Clariton and drinking Powerade, which Good Morning America says isn’t good for me unless I’m actually running in a marathon otherwise it’ll make you fat. I figure it couldn’t hurt for me to put on a few pounds anyway. Besides, the Coca Cola Company wouldn’t put something harmful in their product.

When I’m not coughing stuff up or downing high fructose corn syrup I sleep. Not a resting zombie-fide sleep, but a feverous, tossing and sweating sleep. Amanda says I whimper from time to time throughout the night. And on top of that I’ve been sleepwalking in bed a lot lately. It’s the only way I know to describe it. Sometimes I’m awake but dreaming I have to do some repetitive task before I can go back to sleep. So I pedal my feet, turn do something, turn, pedal, pedal, pedal, till I realize all I need to do is be still and go to sleep.