Room 18 - 12.25.02 - 2:08 am
Look!

It's been raining and lightning all night. Today, the humidity was so high, the tile floors had a layer of water on them and I almost broke my back trying to apply eyeliner in the bathroom.

It didn't feel like Christmas until I listened to William S. Burroughs reading The Priest, They Called Him while Kurt Cobain's guitar wailed Silent Night in the background. I've listened to that recording every Christmas Eve for the past...six? seven? years. Never fails to perk me right the fuck up. That story, along with Eazy E's Merry Muthafuckin' Christmas, are the two reasons I am sitting here right now, not drunk and not yelling about various aspects of the holidays sucking.

Everything is OK right now.

And just so you all don't think I'm slacking off with the boozing, I've already been drunk today. At noon. And then I baked two loaves of rye bread. And it was fucking good.

Anyway, we did the typical Polish dinner thing tonight (peirogi, rye bread, pickled herring in sour cream) and then we went to visit my friend. Her kid is going to be a genius. Shit, she may already be one, it's just our feeble minds are not capable of knowing it yet.

Aaaaand, yeah. Bet you're waiting for me to talk about seeing a certain boy and what my feelings are concerning that situation. Honestly? I don't want to talk about it. Everything goes in circles and seeing as how my gin is all the way across the house, I'm not going to bother with details. He makes me happy. And I hate him. And I'm just glad that he is there.

Dissect, darling.

OK, time to get to bed and wait for Sanity Claus. The duck knows something is up and is stirring while visions of sugarplums dance through his poofy head. I should be quiet.

You know I love you.

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