20 grit sandpaper

Damn, insomnia sucks. The morning is here (Happy fucking b-day to me) and the back of my eyeballs feal like they have been worked over by a crank happy elf with sandpaper. Now I have an eight hour shift at the hospital to look forward to. On top of that, I'm sure that I'll get some of that retarded birthday crap today. Last year it was a FLAMING homosexual in a jester outfit singing a rendition of Happy Birthday To You that was a cross between Ethel Merman and scraping fingernails. The good news is that my calender is completely free this evening. I got a movie offer, but I'd have to drive 2 hours for the company, and poppa would be an angry dwarf by the time he got there, so I think I'm gonna decline. Maybe something will turn up at work, assuming I don't get fired for sleeping on the job.

Bonus!!! The voices in my head are too tired to talk to me. Looks like the neighborhood animals will escape my wrath today.