There aren't a lot of things to write about-

- but not a lot of them are very interesting, is all.

I woke up after a nap to a very welcome phone-call from someone I feel like I know, only I don't. This is the part where we quote from A Streetcar Named Desire and go back and forth between strangers being friends you've never met, and sickies who've yet to find a barrel to pickle your dismembered remains in.

In surgical news, because this is vastly fascinating, I've figured out that astoundingly, if one pulls out their stitches, it will unravel like a thread from a sweater until blood is caked onto the bathroom sink and the individual is left wondering why the hell they'd just done that.
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That was kind of gross, so I will end this on a good note.

I did a google image search for "female chest tattoo" and one of the first results was Al Franken. Silver Fox!