I’m sitting here, watching Seinfeld, feeling positively icky. Like the sticky stuff on your shoe when you leave the movie theater. Not because of Seinfeld, although this is one of my least favorite episodes. The one where Kramer is accused of murder in California, and Jerry & George are there trying to find him. Personally, I always thought Kramer was too obvious a choice for a serial killer–the weird guy with no job, and odd habits? In a slightly different universe, Cosmo & Costanza would be a killing team. And Elaine, she’ s a rage killer; you just know that she’s be bumping off boyfriends and bosses and neighbors! Of the four, only Jerry is serial killer material: he seems relatively normal, and most people would say he’s a nice guy. Of course, he’s a seething mass of insecurities and narcissism, with OCD tendencies, and enough money to travel. The Comedy Killer.
But I digress.
I’m feeling icky because I’ve not been sleeping, and not sleeping leads to seizures for me. Some time today, I had one, I think. All the signs point that way, but I’m not positive. I’ll know for sure tomorrow, if my legs and arms start to ache. I already have a huge headache, which is fun. NOT! Maybe this will break me out of the not sleeping rut. Either that or I’ll be unconscious a lot more in the next few weeks.
Either way, I’ll be thinking a lot about sitcom stars as serial killers.