PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I thought, last night, it would be interesting to play "Bejeweled 2" while trying to numb my brain down enough to go to sleep. You know how it is, after a certain point, the Brain Gnomes refuse to play cards anymore and they want to go joyriding for some action, even though all the other Body Gnomes are laid up or working their little gnome asses off, fighting infections, mucus, and sweats.

So I think to myself, Self! If you cannot get past level 3 on Bejeweled 2, you are not qualified to drive a car (further justifying not going to work!) Because, as I started playing the game, there was a certain slackjawed panic in the first level and I tried to find matches and things were taking a lot longer than usual. And keep in mind, this is now under the influence of one mega-dose of NyQuil, followed up by a couple of nighttime caplets an hour later, when my brain refused to let me sleep. I was lying there listening to my wheezing, whistly exhale, each breath reminding me more and more of the vicious, viscous creatures that burst forth from every hapless victims' chest cavity in the Alien movies. I kept seeing that shiny dripping little head with its own rows of teeth. Pleasant, eh? Don't think I've been mouth breathing for the fun of it, folks.

So I make it past level three on Bejeweled 2. Surely this is a fluke. No, I made it all the way to my usual level (9) and the second dosage of medicine finally started to kick in. Bejeweled 2, under the influence. I guess I'm ok to drive, operate heavy machinery and do my job. But when that horrid alien creature pops out of my chest, eeeeverybody at work is gonna wish I'd stayed home.