Thursday, July 11, 2002

sex, drugs, and oljs

Today I did nothing. Nothing. I can do that and not feel guilty about it on good days. Tomorrow, I have an intereview at 1:30 to help disabled people that I probably will not end up doing. --All my ruff ryders meet me outside, meet me outside, says Bonnie. Shower Boy is in the bathroom. Again. Bonnie just slammed the door and screamed, "Motherfucker, guess who is not brushing their teeth tonight." And she is now stripping off her clothes, getting ready to hop in bed. Shower Boy is always in the shower at the most inopportune times, he is in the shower at all hours of the night, when you are drunk and need to pee so badly, when you just want to wash your face before you go to sleep. One fucking second. Friday, I have an interview at a temp agency, and Bonnie's going to see how she feels at ten am tomorrow. She is babbling incoherently, and I love it, it amuses me, and I want more people to babble to themselves. Everyone to. And maybe I will babble some to myself in my bed, into my pillow since now I must get off this computer since Bonnie wants to go to sleep. To sleep. To die, little children. And I don't think I'm getting any beer now. Oh well, the price we pay to wear things (not neccesarily our hearts) on not neccesarily our sleeves.

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