melodrama!

Winter here is cold and dry, and your lips are dry and chapped in spite of the copious amounts of chapstick you slather on every few hours, and there's always that split second of realization as you smile just the slightest bit too widely that oh shit there goes OW MOTHERFUCKER.

And it occurs to you as you wander around with a tissue stuck to your lower lip that your imminent death by blood loss due to dryness-induced split lip is really rather sad. Alas.

I'm bleeding to death through my lower lip. Tell everyone I forgive them. < / Jane >

fear!

And to top it all off, my TRASH CAN is making strange noises. It's, like, shifting, or something. *eyes trash nervously*

I swear, it will be a miracle if I survive the night.