picasso face

So once when I got a really bad cold, I looked in the mirror and felt like my face had been rearranged. Like my insides were out, my face was dripping. I then coined a phrase that is reserved for the moments when I feel the most miserable: "I have Picasso face."

And ladies and gents, I have Picasso face. (You know, like my features are distorted and strange, dripping to the side, like some of Picasso's subjects' facial features were apt to do.)

I tried to fend it off, but it was really pretty useless as this cold was bound and determined to take me down. I think I'm on the up slope, but I've had some rather miserable moments. The worst part is cold medicine makes me crazy. Even NyQuil turned on me as it actually prevented my sleep, holding me in the realm just between awake-enough-to-be-conscious and asleep-enough-to-get-rest. But without it, I just lay in bed for several hours until somehow my body shuts down. And then before I know it, the birds are screaming again.

I just want my sleep back. And my face.