Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Lots to do today. It looks like we are going to get the apartment.

Now to work out the finances and whatnot.

I have things to do today. There is some bank weirdness going on and
I don't get it but I'm not going to bitch.

I tried a new coffee today and it is in fact too sweet.

I realized a few weeks ago while trimming the hedges that the left
half of my pubes is about 75% white. I can now proudly say I am the
owner of striped pussy.

I also have to cop to having my ego stroked almost daily by people who
don't have to. It's a lovely thing to be called hottie and variations
there of by people on coming into work.

I will admit I need it.

Anyhow.

I'm not quite feeling better but I am more centered and less in the
mood to stab someone in the throat.

In conversation with Boy Venus last night (as I was having as much of
a freak out as I ever have) I said that I am a crazy bitch.

I know it and I own it. And it doesn't rule me or my life. I know
what I have to do and I'm going to do it.

Insanity be damned.

So in conclusion for the day I quote Snoop Dogg again, directed at my issues.

"Fuck who you are and fuck what you're goin through."

Homo Out.
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Saturday, January 28, 2006

The following ladies and gents is why I tend not to get too optimistic
or hopeful.

So today I thought we were going to have to move rooms and that we
were all paid up until the first.

That is what I was told on the phone, that is what I was told when we
got here. That is what I'd been planning on this whole time.

Apparently not.

There was a knock at the door at 11:30 wherein we were told either
check out or pay. And pay in ten minutes because the lady at the
front desk was about to do the books.

So instead of being able to stay through the first without any further
bank account voodoo I had to about empty my account to stay through
the 4th.

Which means.

I have to do some serious bank account voodoo so we can move into the
apartment I want (barring anything going wrong with that) on the
tenth.

The issue is that it will cost another 550$ to stay here until the tenth.

I don't get paid next until the 8th.

Even if I did get paid on say the third or something I wouldn't be
able to afford to give the rest of the deposit, move in costs and such
at the apartment.

I really thought this was the one chance for something to go right
I've been wanting. The leasing agent at the apartment has really gone
above and beyond to see that we get it. Her boss did something
unheard of by allowing us to rent with a very small additional deposit
because of the fuckery of my previous landlords. Not to mention have
just enough left over for a moving van, and ramen for two weeks. And
enough to pay storage in MI and here.

Now. To put it frankly we have enough money to maybe eat the rest of
the week if we eat lean. No money to pay storage. There won't be
enough money to stay here and move into the other place, much less get
moved into there.

I put on a brave face for Byootiful. He's been sick again and most
likely is going back into the hospital after we get moved. But I
honestly just don't know what I'm going to do.

I don' t know people with money. I don't have the kind of family who
would give me money if they had it.

I have fought for every little bit of happiness and feeling of well
being I've ever had. I work for it. There are very few times in my
life I can think of where I became at all complacent or took what I
have for granted.

So now here I am. Sitting in an ugly little room that truth be told I
don't really like. Right back where I started. All my issues
chomping at the bit to get a piece.

I sit here wondering am I such a shit human being that regardless of
what I do, many basic comforts are just not going to happen for me.
Regardless of how hard I fight, how many times I try to do the (ever
elusive) right thing.

I spend a lot of time looking at myself and examining my motives for
doing things. I keep a hard eye on myself so that I don't become
greedy. I know my limits. I know when I am and am not just being
shitty.

Maybe I am in fact wanting too much.

Maybe the issue is that I have in fact fucked up my life enough that
the things I desire are just not in the cards for me. I can
acknowledge that and take responsibility for that. And I think in
time I can accept it.

What I can't accept is this state of perpetual panic and feeling like
a piece of shit. That is what I don't know how to process or deal
with. It's partly because I honestly strive to live a decent life and
be a decent human being. (My occasional yelling at strangers aside.)
I have it ingrained into me the idea that you get out of life what you
put into it.

For most I wouldn't think that to be such an issue.

For me?

I put everything into trying to get life to a point where I can feel
safe and feel like maybe, just maybe I am in fact a good human being
who deserves the basic things. Maybe occasionally something really
good to happen. A two minute interlude of something that doesn't
resemble panic or pain. Sure maybe. Meanwhile I'm killing myself to
get things done and here I am.

Nothing.

So what now?

Keep going.

In case anyone is wondering I'm not crying. I haven't cried for
probably almost a year or so. I cried for ten minutes in the hospital
with Byootiful last May. A couple of minutes in the shower while I
was packing the last apartment up.

I can't don't cry.

I don't have the time or the resources for it.

Now what do I do?

I don't know.

For once I just have no idea what to do now. I don't know where to
turn. I don't know what to do. I wish I did.

I tried the Salvation Army and was given the run around. I tried
various other agencies all of whom said no in varying ways. I make
too much money. Don't live in the right zip code. I'm not married.
My credit sucks. Yadda yadda.

My stance is proven yet again.

The only person I can really count on is myself. No disrespect to my
friends and other people I love. But the truth is the only
person(thing what have you) I have to fall back on is me.

And I am breaking my own back.

That's probably about the last I'm going to say about it. Talking
about it doesn't do anything aside from waste time that I should be
spending trying to figure out how to not be homeless, and be able to
be in the apartment with more than the clothes on my back.

As was proven to me in childhood, my teenage years, and now my
adulthood. Nothing is ever O.K.
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Thursday, January 26, 2006

Somewhere out in the ether my thoughts are weaving some strange complex thi ng.

I didn't sleep much last night. Little enough that I think if I'd just stayed awake I'd feel better.

I've been having a strange mix of dreams lately. When I cat napped this morning I dreamt about being tattooed.

This particular dream was probably nudged out of my Id by several factors.

1.) I am dying to get another tattoo.

2.) We past an interesting looking shop yesterday.

3.) I am dying to get more ink.

So in this dream I was getting ~something~ tattooed up my left hip, around my ribcage and just a little on my back. The artist was teasing me about giggling a few times. That actually happened when I got the tattoo in the small of my back.

I digress here.

While I was contemplating and planning my tattoo people kept telling me over and over how much it would hurt to get it there. How I'd twitch and groan and cry.

Actually. I did giggle quite a few times because the needle hit spots that tickled. The owner checked on me several times and thought it was cute that I kept giggling. Truth is the experience wasn't nearly long enough for me to get really into it.

I won't lie and say there were no good bits. The endorphins and the part that did actually hurt were very good.

Oh news flash. The slipdress I bought on one of the auctions just got here and it's quite lovely. I have a feeling I'll be flashing some skin come summer.

Actually not that much skin since I'll probably wear it with a little sweater of some sort.

Little known fact about me I collect slips. Black for the most part though, I do have one light blue one I have plans for. I like older a-line styles. I do however have a few cute short lace trimmed ones.=20 That reminds me once I find them I need to fix the hem of one.

What I love (and wish I had more of) are the slips that are made of the more sturdy nylon. Before they were quite so sheer. I had one that fit me like it'd been made for me. Made by Sears sometime in the early sixties if I recall right. Then my body changed and I traded it for a pill box hat at a vintage store.

Also in the useless information category I really need a new wallet and still have not decided what kind of bag I want to replace my backpack because my very cute Elvis purse just doesn't cut it for day to day use.

I also still need a couple new bras, a pair or two of pants, socks, undies etc. I don't know when or if I discussed this but I am on a mission to refill my wardrobe with things I like and don't feel stupid wearing.

I find lately I have this weird fascination with babydoll style dresses. I don't wear them but I keep seeing ones that I want to buy. I don't know why. I think it's my strange love of fugly things. I might not wear it but I'd give it a good home.

While I'm prattling about fashion I think maybe this weekend I may drag Byootiful out to Ross or some such for some discounted goodness.=20 Or maybe up into Cap hill for some forrays then dinner and drinks somewhere. Maybe get my nose pierced. Something.

Other useless information. I have a few rules about my wardrobe. I can never have too many black skirts of varying lengths. I must have good thick tights. Knee high boot socks rock my socks. Also, I need to start wearing more jewelry again. I need a shorter chain for my ankh, need some new earrings since the old ones I had broke. Maybe a new labret of some sort I'm ready for a change.

At the base of all this bullshit (for those I haven't bored to clicking away yet) is the fact that I am ready and desperately hungry for a change.

Something.

Break it up.

Or I'm going to smash something.

Ok enough of my prattle and nonsense.

Goodnight Frank.
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Monday, January 23, 2006

So what the fuck right?

Right.

So right now if I were to change my outsides to represent my insides I would first off shave my head entirely. I'm talking to shiny bald.

Second, get a tattoo on my skull of the words FUCK YOU around my newly gleaming dome.

Steel toed boots.

Black leathers.

Big knife.

Evil look.

If my life were a movie along with the look, there would be more.

Ever present slight haze, a cigarette dangling from my mouth, dark glasses on my face, and theme music.

I have a few choices for theme music.

1.)Soprano's Theme Song- Woke Up This Morning.

2.)DMX- Bloodline Anthem

3.)Black Flag - My War

4.)Otep - T.R.I.C

Read the lyrics.

Get my point.

The words Mean Mother Fucker are not incorrect nor are they unkind.

You get my drift?

To quote Snoop Dog (one of my favorite songs)
"...Shit, fuck what you goin through and fuck what you stand for"

What's this all about?

I am pissed off.

I tended towards cranky before and now I'm plain fucking mean. I recall a conversation with BoyVenus about my gangsterish philosophy about life.

Not in the sense of criminal activity but rather the ride til you die kind of attitude.
If I ran on anger before...I'm on pure fury now.

I am not fucking having it.

I am through playing around.

I refuse to let all this shit make me weak. I refuse to feel powerless, I refuse to lay down and let it all go because I know goddamn well the only person who can fix this is me.

Fuck what you heard.

I'm not in the fucking mood anymore.

It's not funny.

And I'm fucking done.

Goodnight Frank.


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Thursday, January 19, 2006

I was going to talk about what's going on with me and whatnot but to tell the truth it just doesn't help.

Talking about how I feel is not going to change the facts. It's not going to change how I am perceived by others. It's not going to make things easier or feel better.

So moving on from things I feel to things I know.

I know that basically I am a good person. I do what I can to be a good friend, a good significant other, a decent human being.

I also know that in terms of the big bad world that isn't necessarily important. A lot of people give lip service to how important and wonderful it is to be a good person but, in the grand scheme of life being a good person doesn't necessarily do anything for you.

It's a fact that being good won't help you not be poor. It won't help you be seen beyond a credit score by some people. It won't always help you get and keep a job, or get and keep a lover. That is just how it is.

I've always accepted that in my life. For most of my life I've held onto the fact that regardless of what is going on in my life I try very very hard not to be an asshole to people.

Never mind.

Suffice it to say that my set of values and whatnot are fucking broken. And I don't really know what to do.

I used to be a cautious optimist but right now, I'm not. I don't know if I ever will be able to be again.

To speak to what I have to do is the following.

Get a second job.

Pay off everything.

Stop complaining and get to work.
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Tuesday, January 17, 2006

So. First things first. I am really in no mood to navigate the minefield of my psyche so expect some fluff.

There is a lot going on in my head right now and it makes me feel very, very uncomfortable to talk about it. Any of it.

That said onto more comfortable ground.

This past weekend I went to Walgreens and purchased myself a microdermabrasion treatment. I've been using it as directed for three days now and my skin feels noticeably smoother. I really like it.

However I really need to get back on the hair nail and skin regiment of vitamins I'd been on. I notice the difference. It's been about two/three months since I stopped taking them and my nails haven't been in as good of shape.

And my hair.

Well I can say with some certainty that the monster fluff cannot be contained. Going Au natural just is not working for me. So this weekend I will be relaxing my hair. It's still at an odd length and truth be told I have no idea what to do with it.

Hopefully if I can find someone cheap I can get some braids or something because I'm not really sure what else to do and getting it done at the salon is not an option at this point.

If anybody knows someone that does some cheap hair in Seatown leave a note.

As usual in my times of stress I don't take very good care of myself.=20 I've done a lot of backsliding in that regard lately and I need to stop. I know that rationally but emotionally, it's a lot harder to really do.

My lack of caring for myself is becoming more and more evident and I'm not happy with it.

I think I might start writing things down. I do better if I have something tangible to tell myself: do this. And why I need to do it.

I think that's all for right now. I am going to do some reading.
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Thursday, January 12, 2006

I ran into an ex lover earlier today on my way to work. Actually
lover isn't such a great word, fact is we hated each other. We didn't
like each other on sight. Within the first ten minutes of knowing
each other we'd already spewed enough names at each other to make his
brother (whom I was friends with) wince and blush.

So now you're asking, but Shannon why did you screw this jackass?

The simple honest answer is that what we lacked in liking each others
personalities we more than made up for in the almighty sexual
attraction.

It took a good four months or so of fighting and growling at each
other then just like in the pornos BAM we were naked.

Make no mistake.

That was not love making.

That was in fact a grudge fuck that later turned into a full on hate
fuck and yes we both enjoyed it very much.

Everytime we had sex we both came out bruised and a few times bloodied.

On meeting on the corner of 3rd and Pine he actually hugged me. I
thought it was weird but he explained quickly since I was waiting for
a bus.

He said that in the last few years he's realized what a fucking
dickhole (I'm not calling people asshole anymore, now it's dickhole)
he was and that he'd enjoyed having a woman who challenged him, and
wasn't afraid of him in anyway. He had styled himself some sort of
sadist Master but when confronted by someone who wasn't automatically
subservient, nor willing to play at subservient he was upset.

So we fucked a lot. We tussled. We bit. We played tug o war with the power.

He never won and when we stopped sleeping together sulked and bitched
about it(apparantly to his friends) for quite awhile.

Always nice to see the lesser of the crazy people I've screwed.

I was going to talk about something else but the new office chairs
have this weird hump in them that supposedly helps you sit up straight
but all it does is make my fucking taint hurt.

So I'm done now. I'm cranky.
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Tuesday, January 10, 2006

I've been forgetting to update again.

Expect pre-dated entries.

Lookit the BIG brains on me.

Actually right now just look at my boobs kthnks.

I overheard a conversation on the bus yesterday that left me pretty
amused. This girl was bragging about how much she's reading these
days because she's in college. One of the boys with her asked (as
fellow readers usually will)what she's been reading lately. This girl
responds that she read a few books (she rattled off a couple of
standard issue English 101 readings) then said, but they all sucked.
So the boy asks her what she enjoys reading.

This self proclaimed avid reader responds:

"You know like Spin and Vogue"

I had to stifle a laugh and the boy just looked shocked.

It was pretty amusing.

Onto my own reading.

I'm currently reading an anthology entitled: href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0452265827/qid=1136932872/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/103-8952223-7554260?s=books&v=glance&n=283155"
target="_blank">High Risk: An Anthology of Forbidden Writings. It
features work by John Preston, William S. Burroughs, Dorothy Allison
et al. Thus far I'm enjoying it quite a bit.

The bit by John Preston really resonated with me. His essay entitled
'How Dare You Even Think These Things' really put a bug in my ear.
Those are words I've heard off and on in my life. Even asked of
myself many times.

As I've gotten older I've come to the conclusion that whatever I'm
thinking there's either a reason or it's just shit kicked up out of my
Id to stir up trouble. And I'm OK with that.

It took me quite a long time to realize that my strangeness is just
fine. That isn't to say I don't have issues but, me being strange
isn't really one of them at this point.

I'm off my nut and yes I'm OK with that.

Fuck sake the speakers on this computer are shit and are currently
rendering my DMX rattly. Oh the woes of being at work.

What I really want to listen to, is Jim Carroll spoken word.

Boy Venus mentioned Bukowski to me the other day and as I was digging
in my mountain of stray bits of poetry etc I think stylistically I'm a
little more Carroll than Bukowski. At least when read aloud or
spoken.

I think.

If you aren't familiar with Jim Carroll's work outside of the film The
Basketball Diaries go right now and download some of the available
clips on his href="http://www.catholicboy.com/catholicboy.com-asp//index.asp"
target="_blank">website. I saw him read at the Crocodile Cafe and
got too shy to go up and ask him to sign my Copy of href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140586954/qid=1136933664/sr=2-3/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_3/103-8952223-7554260?s=books&v=glance&n=283155"
target="_Blank">Fear of Dreaming. I'm not often geeked out and
starstruck but he was one that made me feel like the gibbering
schoolgirl.

Johnette Napolitano from Concrete Blonde is another one who when I had
the chance I got too (insert me drooling and giggling here) starstruck
to go up and say hello.

Good thing I wasn't like that when I was little. Otherwise I'd have
never met and hugged Dolly Parton (I idolized her as a kid) Kenny
Rogers (Island in the Stream tour anyone?), and a few others I can't
recall just now.

The only one that was a bad experience was meeting Geoff whatshisface
from Queensryche. I was about 9-10 and walked up to him at the Pike
Place Market and he got snotty with me. It was mean he made me cry
and I haven't listened to their music since. Yes I hold a fucking
grudge.

Natter natter natter.

OK I think I'm done.

Goodnight Sally.

PS

The barn door is open.
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Monday, January 09, 2006

I wrote quite a bit this weekend. Finally got started on something that's been knocking around my skull for weeks. Transcribed some more from my journal. I noticed while I was writing that, sans many distractions I can actually be somewhat productive.

I find I'm still having the weird feelings about publication. It's this strange abivilance that I can't quite shake. On one hand I have this burning desire for satisfaction and "success" (whatever the FUCK I mean by that..don't ask) then on the other hand I just don't care what other people think because I know nobody is more of a critic than I am.

So what the fuck?

I am really annoying the piss out of myself with this whole thing. I keep trying to break it down and get my head around what my problem is.

As I said in an earlier entry part of it is the feeling that my writing is not yet up to par enough for me to be pimping it. I have very high standards and while I acknowledge that my writing is changing for the better (in my eyes at least) I am missing something vital enough that I spend inordinate amounts of time poring over what I've written trying to find it.

So yes on one front I realize and am confronting that issue. Which of course leads me to the next. I have a problem with audience. I don't particularly care about it. For as long as I can remember I've written for my own amusement. I write because I have all this crazy shit in my head and writing gets it out. It keeps me from muttering about men who beat each other senseless before fucking or have violent knife weilding sex in alleys (one of the best stories I've had published to date I must say). It keeps me from talking about pedophile eating baby demons, heroin induced daydreams, dead men and on and on. My subject matter frequently makes friends squirm, but it's in my head so out it comes.

The problem with that is this. When I start up my researching I find I have a sensitivity to where and whom I send what. Thus I send out nothing.

And last but not least is my weirdness around self publication.

I remember when I was a weecrankylittlebeasty and I collected and participated in a ton of zines. Armed with staples and copy machines some of my friends and I put out stuff we liked. I remember when self publication was the punk rock badass thing to do.

With the advent and spread of the net (I'm sure some of you know these people) it seems like every asshole with a keyboard and some spare time is suddenly a "published" author. Then said assholes run rampant on the internet proclaiming their own brilliance and the utter shit that anyone else writes. I have a dread (absolute phobia) of finding that one day I have become one of these assholes.

Rationally I know that isn't likely. I know myself too well and I am too strict with myself to succumb to that kind of ego maniacal bullshit but the fear is still there.

Not to mention given that I want (someday) to have writing be not only my vocation but my career, I don't want something I self publish to come back and bite me in the ass. I'm all too aware of how fickle people can be and how reputation can play into that.

So where am I going with all this bullshit?

Frankly, I don't know.

My goals as a writer feel too divergent to me to make sense. I don't fuckin know.

All I DO know is that I have clear cut idea of what I want to do with my writing quality/stylistically.

But anything else.

I just don't know.
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Friday, January 06, 2006

I am showing way more cleavage than I normally do at work and it's not even on purpose. I am what can be called big tittius beastius.

In lay terms that big titty beasty.

I'm wearing a tank top under a cardigan (unbeknownst to me I'm aparantly looking quite trendy today. As some squealy girl informed me) and this top has one of those stupid supposed built in bras.

Now the top itself is a large but the supposed "bra" only covers about half of my boobs. Useless. I thought I'd cut it out but apparantly not. So the way the bra thingy fits it pushes the girls up and they are just fighting in there trying to get out.

I am adjusting every five minutes.

This is actually leading somewhere. I was talking to some of the other ladies at work and one of them said to that I should wear tighter clothes more often.

That followed on the heels of someone saying that one of my myspace photos is "banging"

I am nearing 30 and a little heavier than I'd like. My metabolism tends to hate me and my health isn't what it used to be. I am struggling with trying to not be such a cunt to myself.

It's hard.

But I'm adjusting.

Ok I think that's it. I've got a cup of miso soup with my name on it.

Remember kids...boobs kill.
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Wednesday, January 04, 2006

I submitted some poetry to a magazine about a month ago and just got the rejection today. So if anyone aside from me is keeping track that's 0 for 5 in the past four months or so.

The whole process is really distracting. I think I might stop submitting again for awhile. I'd like to say constant rejection is helping me build character but it's not.

What it's doing is letting me know loud and clear that my work for whatever reason doesn't 'fit editorially' with most of the publications I enjoy reading. So yeah.

I'm not terribly upset but it stings.

At least it was a form letter I think. Although one of these days I'd like to get another rejection that tells me something aside from good luck and we don't want your shit.

I realize that realistically unless an editor does really like your work much of the time they are just too busy for this kinda thing. But it's nice to hope for.

So I'll send whatever I write to my friends. Things seem to work that way. And granted that I'm not writing a book, have no interest in doing so at this point. The publication issue is officially moot I think.

That's it.

I had something else to say and forgot with the rejectiony distraction.

Yes I make up words.

Shut up.
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Tuesday, January 03, 2006

It's not super porn but I hope it induces a hard on or two.


I am a greedy lover. Much that I see I want to posses. Lips I want to see stretched open in a feral wild grin, voices I want to hear ring in my ears when I strike. I want to hear you beg, I want to see you bleed. I want to see how much you can take before you lose control. And then when you are sobbing and spent, I want you to lay your head on my breast. I want to feel you relax under my protection. I want to whisper in your ear how beautiful you are when you writhe. Tell you what pleasures you bring me. I want to hold you when you are on the cusp of sated sleep, murmur how proud I am to have you. And just how, in this calm you are absolutely mine.

~

Remember…

I want to see you kneeling and beautiful with your lips wrapped around my cock. I want you to encircle the base; look up at me with lust glazed eyes and say to me how badly you want it. I want to bend you over and lick your spine, lube you up and ride to glory. I want to fuck you until you bark helpless to contain your joy. I want you to come like Mt Vesuvius all over my cock. And then I want you to come again. I want you to come so hard you see stars and moons, speak in tongues. I want your body to remember me as no other. When you think of me I want you to squirm in your seat. I want you to feel the throb of absolute need inside. I want your mouth to water just thinking of my cock. And then I want you to smile. Then when someone asks what the little smile is for simply say,

"Oh, just thinking of a girl I used to know."
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So we moved. It's not a great place but it has the necessities and it
only takes about 20 minutes for me to get to work. It took us about
14 hours all together to move. Travel time included. There are
things I have learned.

I learned that if you live on an island just stay. It's a fuckin
headache to move.

I still give really shitty directions.

I don't particularly care for Uhaul.

There are people who are genuinely interested in my welfare not
because I know them but because I look like I might stroke out or
something.

Warn the bank before doing any kind of ATM voodoo for large amounts of cash.

Drink more Jager.

Stick to the plan and listen to myself.

So anyway we are safe. Housed and I actually got some really good
sleep. Granted by the time we got to bed it was all either of us
could do except fall into bed and lay there snoring.

But yeah.

In other news I am wearing my new boots today and though it is pissing
rain my wee feets are still warm and dry. Byootiful took one of his
few bus trips and I sent him home alone hopefully he won't miss the
bus stop.

Something else I learned: I give kickass bus directions.

Also as a future note to self: never underestimate the restorative
powers of a simple hair wash and shower.

So yeah.

All is mostly better. Not quite well yet I have some shit I need to
get accomplished before I will feel entirely better.

The hunt for permanent residence continues.

I think that's about it for right now so I'll stop this. The
aforementioned porno will be posted later on today when I have time to
sit down and get it transcribed from my notebook.

Later Bob...
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