I'm feeling better. But not BETTER. Still sick. Whatever germs are taking their sweet time swarming their hairy little asses OUT of my body are EVIL.

Neal and I went out and celebrated Black Thursday last night. He surprised me with a dozen roses and a box of candy, even though the only thing we were supposed to exchange were love letters. He forgot to do the letter, though, so we're even. He wrote one before we went out to dinner.

I really worked hard on mine. Three pages. I cried the whole time I wrote it. I'm retarded.

We exchanged them at dinner. (We both had the filet. He's medium, I'm rare.) Since his was only one page, I read it quickly. It was very, very sweet. It's funny, because neither of us could manage to pen out a love letter withOUT mentioning things have been tough lately. In fact, that was one of the main points of mine. His had beautiful little drawings in the corners. I didn't know he could do that.

So after I breezed through his, I sat there, watched him read mine, remembered what I'd written, and started crying all over again in the restaurant. Still retarded.

I made some comment about how I've neither worn eye makeup or cried for ages, but of course they both have to happen on the same night. So he got out a handkerchief. Neal carries handkerchiefs.

I looked at it and noticed it was one of the nice embroidered ones my sister gave him for Christmas. I was all, "Oh, I can't get eyeliner on this, it'll ruin it."

And he's like, "Oh, that's what they're for. It's okay."

I didn't know you weren't supposed to blow your nose on them, too.

Neal: "That's NOT what they're for!"

Me: "When I'm sick it is."

Neal: "Fair enough."

We just hung out. It was nice. If the new job stuff keeps trucking along at the pace it's supposed to, this will be his last weekend here.

I'm hanging out with Shawn for a little bit this afternoon, and then I told him the rest of the weekend was all his.

See you Monday.