I wish I knew what the hell happened last night.
I went to bed just like any other night. Maybe a hair earlier than normal, in all honesty. I was on my right side covered with the sheets, a thin blanket, and the duvet. I also had a pillow between my knees (chiropractor's recommendation that I've been employing for quite some time now) and my right arm out in front of me but cocked at the elbow so the hand and part of the forearm were under my pillow to provide a little additional support for my head.
What the hell happened last night?
We didn't drink anything yesterday. No partying. No drugs. No nothing that could possibly explain away this sleep anomaly. A seemingly normal night.
Today, though, I just know my body's going to revolt sometime, somewhere when I least expect it.
And it will not be pretty.
Four-ish months later and I finally finished season two of True Blood. It took that long to convince my brain to dull itself enough to wrap up this crapfest of a season.
Verdict? I hated it. Passionately.
And even though I've had people swear that season three is better, I don't think I can watch it. As it stands, there's not a single character in the show I feel invested enough in or has enough redeeming qualities to make me want to watch. Not even Hoyt and Jessica, whom I loved so much earlier in the season.
I know it's the it show on TV, but I'm done.
I really just want vampires to fade from the pop culture focus now. Please? I'm sick and tired of them.