"Waiting for the DOCTOR to call..." well, it's a telephone consult actually, for something that I will spare you the details of, but my point is: I'm sitting here. Waiting. Patiently. And I thought to myself, "Hey, TCWH! You're not doing anything, and you most certainly can't go to the bathroom because as soon as you do the phone will ring and if you don't talk to those people now you'll never get to talk to them because you already spent 45 minutes on hold this morning and you dreamed about blogging last night, so why don't you blog?" So here I sit, y'all, boring the masses (*cough*cough*) with my every day life. As for the blogging in my dreams? Ridiculous, n'est-ce pas? I composed oodles and oodles of deliciously fabulous posts that rocked the casblog and were funny and read well. Rollicking is a word that comes to mind. How do I know? Because I woke up every half hour in my sleepy state and thought, "Damn! I AM A GENIUS!" (which should just signal to you all then and there that I was SOUND asleep) How fucking sad is that? Time to step away from the crack, TCWH, I can hear you saying. And I nod my head in admittance. And when I woke up this morning? *Poof* Gone. I'm just left sitting here with the distinct feeling that I KNOW I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING FUNNY LAST NIGHT. Now my brain is plagued with panic as I try to assemble a decent plan of action for my office suite / who the fuck are you kidding it's the size of a postage stamp. Is anyone out there an interior decorator? I really just need to figure out how to fit 5 - 8 kids in a space in which I could projectile vomit from the door and hit the opposite wall, and NO, I am not the chick from The Exorcist. I should be so talented! Maybe I could stack them one on top of the other? Against the wall? Dilemmas, dilemmas. See how exciting it is to be me?