If you can't reach me on the phone, don't worry; I'm not ignoring you. I just can't get back to you. Not until I replace my phone's charger, that is. Junior had bit the wire off yesterday. That bleeping cat. I think he survives on electricity. It doesn't help that my phone's battery is such a freaking weakling. Idiot. I ought to just buy a new phone.

I love Crying Lightning; it's lyrics; and—you know what it reminds me of? Fake Tales of San Francisco. Just a bit. Only this is slower. Yay for the monkeys in the arctic.

Runny nose. Slight fever. Sore throat. Aren't those the symptoms for you-know-what? Bah. I'm sick, and feeling very irritable. Hopefully it's nothing, but then again I just don't get sick. It must be that thing out there. I'm getting really paranoid now. Oh, God, please don't let it be you-know-what.