My fault, really. I thought with my nieces coming over, I’d test out a normal meal and see if I’m capable of that.

I’m not. Not yet, anyway.

Come one in the morning and I get that stupid little cough from the dried out throat caused by acid creeping up my esophagus in my sleep. By three, that was full on verge of massive heartburn, in the vein of what happened on Saturday night.

So, I chugged two big glasses of milk and a ton of Pepto and Gaviscon, and well, by 3:30, I was back to sleeping sitting up in a chair.

Man, I hope this is done soon. It’s really putting a cramp in my style, what style I have.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 829 words, novel: Father Lightning