Dream: I killed somebody in a thunderstorm. Then I fed the cops weed and said it was corn chips.
I told my dad this and he got all freaked out and said, "Oh...no, please don't do that!" and gave me 10 bucks so I wouldn't. Like a good suburban father.
Money? What the hell! We never had that before. Should I save it for the weekend or should I go across the street to the Chinese store and see if they have some sparkely slippers?
No. I should save it for the weekend so Claire doesn't have to spend all the money she earned massaging on food for me. I felt so guilty that I got to stay in her place and spend all weekend on the beach with the hairy men in speedos while she was at work. I felt so guilty, I cleaned her bathtub.
The sunburn on the back of my neck is peeling. I hope it doesn't get tan. I look orange when I tan. Like the carrot woman from planet Xenophyll.
I had an appointment with Erin at the writing center, today. But I missed the train. I was really drunk when I told her I'd be there, so she probably won't be surprised when I don't show up.
Speaking of the party on Saturday...and of this season in general...everybody's pairing up. I kind of have an urge to do so, myself but wouldn't inflict my instability that directly on anybody I actually cared about, so that leaves me fucking people I have contempt for. And he's been sort of vanished for a couple of weeks.
I have been eating a lot. My life was much fuller when I was fat. I could keep a job or a man for more than 2 weeks. Though that probably had less to do with the actual fat and more with the cause of the fat, which was a handful of anti-psychotics and mood stablizers each morning. I wasn't writing at all, then.
I'm getting girly and whiny. I will drink coffee now to give me my switchblade edge. Then I will write a story and make sure Bud the cat does not eat Klodhopper.
A bird in the hand is worth 55 in the mouth.
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