People are very horny right now and it's making my teeth hurt. No, scratch that. Creepy old men are very horny right now. I had to elaborate cuz if someone like, say, Jimmy Fallon started humping my leg or something, my teeth would be the last thing on my mind. The first would be "Why you humping my leg, Jimmy Fallon? That's kinda weird."

And how was your day?

I'm a little dizzy and a little doped up right now. Last night, the gremlin expanded the dance party to cover my entire upper back and I could barely stand at work. Not wanting to repeat this scene tonight, I popped a Vicodin before I left for work. It helped in the sense that I was not in pain, but I had a very hard time explaining things to patrons who were already very confused by my inappropriate hand gestures. I...don't know. I flail my hands around a lot and I guess people expect the movements to mean something other than "Look! I can move my arms! Wee!" It gets worse the more controlled substances I consume.

Yeah.

Oh, funny story. My coworker who is always asking if I've read books I'll never ever be interested in reading was talking about this rare book written by Virginia Woolf's husband (for the record, I would actually like to read that one.) She said it was written in "1843 or something" and didn't Woolf kill herself in 1826? I said, no, actually. Virginia Woolf was born in 1882, something I keep close to my heart because it was one hundred years to the day before I was born. She laughs and says, "Wow, that's pretty freaky. You write, too. Ha ha. Ever had any suicidal thoughts?"

My reaction was a singular blink before I went back to checking in books.

OK, so maybe that wasn't a funny story. Sorry. Would it help if I tell you that I've been carving "Life Rocks" into bathroom stall doors? Cuz I'm not, but I think about it sometimes. Cuz life does rock, fuckers.

Yeah, I know. Shit is bad and it's getting worse, but fuck it. I am so tired of dwelling and fretting and not sleeping because whenever I close my eyes, I see bombs falling on palm trees. I need to chill. And I don't need to feel guilty for said chilling. When your body starts hurting because you can't turn off the TV, maybe it's time to take a deep breath and think about happy things. Like puppies and ducks and Princess Superstar and cucumbers with ranch dip and crushes.

To the beat, baby.

Anyway, so you know how I mentioned camping in my last entry and how I really, really want to go? And today I kept rambling about it, which you wouldn't know but now you do because I just told you? Tonight, both Jerkface and May said "Let's go." Yay fucking squared. Jerkface mentioned a place on the East Coast and May said she'd be willing to drive 6+ hours to camp where the only waterfall in Florida resides. This makes me very, very happy.

Camping: It's Cheaper Than Thorazine.

OK, time for bed. Oh, wait! If you asked for a zine, I will be mailing them soon. I suck, I know. How about a kiss to make it better? Yeah, I knew you'd like that, man.

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