I’m sick. NyQuil is my Valentine.
No, literally, it is. I asked, and it said yes. Last night I partook of it and dreamt you were off to fly a small plane to Japan and I got really angry because you don’t know how to fly. You stormed off because I second guessed your mad skills. Later you reappeared in the form of really large chair, and blindfolded me, and I was pretty sure you were staging some sort of proposal, but instead you were just showing me that there’s actually four floors in my house that I’ve never seen. There’s a sauna, a Wendy’s, and an entire room that’s just a trampoline, so I decided maybe I shouldn’t move, after all.