brighteyes

Andaw I wake up three hours later. Gilligan's masks don't seem to knock me out as strongly as ones I've had in the past. It must be because she does things a bit at a time. Spot a line? Send it off. Liver spot? Send it off. Most of my clients in previous incarnations have saved up their blips and sent them to me in concentrated masks, each marked with a red cross. I used to absolutely dread those. Three hours? More like three days at a time. I would wake up feeling like I'd swallowed a tub of butter and washed it down with sour milk. My limbs would ache constantly and the only activity I could muster would be to roll around in bed, trying to find the numbest position. Any food I tried to consume bounced back up as if a spring sat coiled in my gullet, and my strength, had I been a computer sprite, would have been down to the last bar. And yet a month or two later, I would do it all again in a blink. Money really is a great healer.