4:25AM: wake with a stuffy head, unable to breathe. Stumble to the kitchen to take some Benadryl; stumble back to bed.

SOMEwhere between 4:26 and 7:29: dream I'm in a large flea market that looks more like a Home Depot. Find my Mother at a card table selling all her knick-knacks, even those miniature ceramic houses. Discover my Father "accidentally" selling my childhood drawings and toys. dad apologizes for the mistake, but for some reason, Dad is Todd Dills, and says "sorry dude." Weird.

7:30: alarm clock radio and buzzer goes off full blast. hit snooze, which lasts 9 minutes, making every other time i hit snooze look like a countdown.

7:39: hit snooze.

7:48: hit snooze.

7:57: hit snooze.

8:06: jump out of bed. Stumble towards the kitchen. Pour a drop of echinacea down my sore throat, some Dayquil, and a zinc pill.

8:08: take a piss sitting (yes, sitting) on the can. Phone rings.

8:09: answer the phone (cordless) while still on the can. Karen, my ex-girlfriend in NYC. Asks if I'm still sick; if I'm going to work. Tell her I'm not sure, and that I'm about to jump in the shower.

8:13: sing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Rolling Stones while lathering up in the shower. make a mental note to buy more soap.

8:31: contemplate calling in sick. call friend and colleague Matt to ask if anything important is going on at work today.

8:33: turn on computer to write a 'calling in sick' e-mail to the boss.

8:34: decide I might as well just be sick at my desk and do nothing anyway but send instant messages, check e-mail, and download music. Put on pants and shoes.

8:35: step outside onto my back porch to check the weather. Realize I'm dizzy with medicine-head and should probably call in sick.

8:36: call Matt again, asking him if that design conference thing is tonight after work. It is. That decides it-calling in sick.

8:38: www.hotmail.com-6 new emails. 5 junk, 1 an itinerary from THE2NDHAND. This one's not written by Todd. Decide it might be fun to write one myself, but that Todd would never use it because he's known me too long.

8:40: write "still recovering..." in subject line of my 'calling in sick' e-mail.

8:41: check work e-mail account. Delete the hell out of that mother.

8:42: new hotmail arrives. It's a fwded chainmail letter stating that I'll have great sex if I fwd it on to 10 people, and that conversely, I'll never have great sex again if I don't. Get pissed off and realize that these fwded chainmails are just cold threats. Think back to the last fwded chainmail I passed on and realize it didn't come true. Decide to disprove these things once and for all by having great sex soon, without fwding the chainmail.

8:50: make a breakfast of Eggo waffles with sliced bananas, butter, and Mrs. Butterworth's syrup. Brew a mug of echinacea tea. Realize that while the Eggo waffles I bought yesterday were cheaper than the Hungry Jack waffles; they're also smaller. I've been jipped.

9:01: go looking for a pad to start writing this itinerary.

9:02: take care of some business on the can while starting to write this itinerary.

9:24: realize I've left the sink running since 9:01.

9:25: retire to bedroom; take pants off. Continue writing itinerary in bed.

9:50: glance at alarm clock and note the time. Decide to take a nap.

11:11: wake up and look at clock. marvel at the perfect symmetry of 11:11.

11:11: go back to sleep.

12:16PM: phone ring. Run to check caller ID. Matt at work. Says they need me to come in. He's kidding. Says Joan of Arc are playing at Fireside tonight. i say "fugg it." he says mike might be going to see Damon and Naomi of galaxie 500 play. Say "shit---i want to see that!" Says he'll call me when he gets home from that design conference thing.

12:32: pour a glass of orange juice, spilling it on the counter. Notice spider on the cabinet and kill it with the sponge.

12:34: check e-mail and pay my bills online.

1:53: finally throw away those moldy plum pierogis in the fridge.

2:28: poached egg sandwiches and Nestle Nesquik chocolate milk for lunch while watching Austin Powers for the umpteenth time, for no apparent reason.

3:18: phone ring. Find out from Colleen that this really cool girl is pissed at me because i didn't walk her home one night after a movie, even though I offered and she declined, saying she was taking a bus and would be fine.

3:23: kick myself several times, exclaiming "fuck! fuck! fuck!"

3:36: phone ring. Michelle. She's home early, tired. Hope I didn't get her sick.

3:42: check e-mail. Response from Erin in San Francisco, finally. Think maybe she was pissed at me too. Well, maybe not pissed, just embarrassed.

3:43: begin to wonder about that "great sex" fwded chainmail. Begin to worry.

4:11: put Komeda CD in the stereo and hit play.

4:12: read in Herman Miller's Tropic of Cancer, the part where he describes his servitude to a "fat little duck" Hindu named Nanantatee. Fall asleep.

5:03: phone ring. Karen, EX-, again. Rehash laughter, bitterness, anger, hurt, and love of our relationship past. Again.

5:20: next CD in the rotation. Jets to Brazil. Start singing in the phone. She tells me to stop because she's paying for this call. Hang up eventually; fall asleep.

5:44: receive call from Matt; no reason in particular. Ask what he's doing tonight. Says he'll call me later.

5:52: mental note-buy toilet paper.

5:53: start feeling depressed. Wonder what the hell we're all doing with our lives. Sigh. Swear to myself that I'm a good guy in general and lament not walking a nice girl home that night.

5:57: decide that if my Bo Duke costume doesn't work out, I can just stencil the word "jackass" or "sorry" to my shirt. if someone asks what I'm supposed to be, I can just say "i'm sorry."

6:00: next CD in the rotation. Cocteau Twins. Reminds me of Larissa, the model/miss teen missouri I briefly dated when i was 20, the one my SC friends dubbed "teen bitch."

6:17: receive call from Colleen. Get details of a costume party tomorrow. Talk some more about the girl I foolishly was unable to walk home, despite attempts. Vow to insist on walking everyone home from now on. Talk about the woes of being web designers and how every company essentially sucks about the same.

7:02: close the windows it's getting cold. Some hot tea; lots of milk, lots of sugar.

7:06: call todd to catch up and see what he's doing tonight. He might go to see Joan of Arc. Might go to a party. Says he'll call me later.

7:57: dinner. Spaghetti.

8:18: receive call call from Mike. he's staying home-doesn't feel like going to see damon and naomi play after all.

8:35: rearrange vertically stacked LPs the right way.

8:50: do dishes.

9:10: look in closet for wig to use in bo duke costume. Decide instead to possibly be Hutch of "Starsky and Hutch."

9:48: thumb through '60s movie poster book looking for costume ideas. Nothing.

9:54: receive call from Matt. Talk for an hour about just what the hell we're doing with our lives; about his frustration in dealing with galleries, the art world in general and its social circles; and about working with idiots and just why they're successful idiots.

10:55: vanilla and strawberry ice cream. Breyers. The good stuff.

11PM-12:30AM: browse the web aimlessly.

1:16: brush teeth, wash face.

1:53: fall asleep reading Tropic of Cancer.