I woke today with the conviction that someone beat me up during the night. I hurt bad. I hurt everywhere. I lack any bruises to back up my belief that someone sedated me and sneaked into my room with a baseball bat last night, but it must have been something like that. This feeling, of an unremembered beating, is next in degree of enormity of unjustness to that of an undeserved hangover. I hate that.
I am going to run about with my daughter-in-law today to the grocer and such. Whoop-te-do. I plan to do not much otherwise.
In my first paragraph the word sneaked originally appeared as the word "snuck". It bothered me to the point where I looked it up to find out if that was a real word. It turns out that it is but that my ego would not let me use it.