Second, I've been feeling sick over the last twelve hours or so. My stomach feels like jelly, and every now and then it decides to rebel against me. I feel like stuff wants to come out both ends at the same time, but nothing comes out. Last night I was force-feeding myself water to keep myself from vomiting. It worked, but just as I thought I had drunk an entire bottle, I looked and discovered I had hardly drunk a fourth of the bottle. Ergh.
So I set my trash can next to my bed and went to bed early. Around six this morning a noise jerked me out of bed.
BEEBEEBEEBEEBEEBEEBEE. The fire alarm.
It didn't stay on for long, though. The alarm ended, and I returned to bed. About a minute later--BEEBEEBEEBEEBEE. This time I got out of bed (knocking over the trash can in the process--luckily I didn't need it, but it was nearly full) and went to the kitchen, expecting flames. Instead, Mum was sitting on the couch, and a pot of water was on the stove. "It's fine," she said. "Go back to bed." I went back to bed but couldn't go back to sleep. College fire drills have conditioned me so well.
This was unusual, though. This was the first time I've heard the fire alarm go off in my house, and I've lived in that house my entire life. It's not quite as uncommon at Grandmother's since her alarm is more sensitive. Seriously, I hear beeps at the slightest sign of smoke. At my house, never. Until this morning.
Also, I haven't been able to keep my mind on one project at a time lately. The fairy tales have been put to the side (sorry, Ryan, but it looks like won't get the mathy proof or your soul) because of the army of literary pirates that invaded my mind over the past few days. This means that I put off my literary autobiography yesterday to work on the link dump in the last entry. Then the army decided to put a bunch of other things in my mind too. All on the last week of holiday.
The last week of holiday? Do I really go back to Agnes in a week? Wow.