Four o'clock. In the fucking afternoon.

Isn't that just terrible? We got home at about 5:30 this morning, but still. Waking up at 1 or 2 should have given us plenty. Elvis usually sleeps until 2 or 3 on a Sunday anyways. But 4:00 is a bit excessive.

All this, after we had a big conversation about how much sleep people need. Miss Kitty, for example, needs lots. I maintained I that I don't need very much. And, usually, I don't. Must have needed it today though.

What I really need today is a head transplant.

So now it's 5:00, and I haven't even showered yet. Complete waste of day.

Not that Sundays are usually all that productive, but still.

I feel like crap, too. Not hungover-- although I probably deserve to be. But my nose is stuffed up, my sinuses feel like they're filled with a mixture of gravel and acid, and my throat is sore. Not only that, I'm bloated, have cramps, and two-- TWO!-- zits on my nose in addition to the usual constellation around my chin. Which is a bit unfair, since I just had my period a couple weeks ago. Peri-menopause is not fun, so don't believe anyone who tries to tell you different. Also, there's something funny going on with my eyes. I'm not sure exactly what, just that something isn't right. Super.

I had meant to get up a couple of hours before Elvis and work on my novel, but my inability to think straight has kind of put the kibosh on that little plan. Instead, I think we'll move on to our usual Sunday pursuit of going to the pub for lunch. Or dinner. Or breakfast. Food of some sort, in other words.

I'd kill for a fry-up right about now.

If I had the energy.

What the internet needs, of course, is a patron saint.

If you're like me, you'll be stunned to know that it doesn't have one already. Politicians have one-- St. Thomas More. So do accountants-- St. Matthew. Attorneys have six: Catherine of Alexandria, Genesius, Ivo of Kermartin, Mark the Evangelist, Raymond of Penyafort, and Thomas More. (Busy guy, Thomas More.) More importantly, Brewers have five: Augustine of Hippo, Luke, Nicholas of Myra, Amand and Wenceslaus. St. Bonaventure is the patron of bowel disorders (I wonder how he got that job!); St. Eloi is the patron of boilermakers. Why shouldn't the internet have a patron saint of its very own?