I'd written a long and bleary essay about folding tapistries, duke students, durham healt comissions, rosh hashana, supporting dustpans, good drugs, dumpster diving, helpful people, and a fox with stars glued to her feet, but Diaryland ate it.

Always copy before you post, dear children. Fuck Fuck Fuckety pooh.

I want to coventry-roleplay. I have Scenes in my Head. lots and lots of them.

I bought glittery slutlotion and a new notebook, and this made me happier. I drank cranberry juice this morning with a brownie, and this made my belly Unhappy.

I bought just enough chevre and just enough salami today for dinner. The chevre covered every slice of salami and I finished just as I became too full for another bite.

Perfection.

I want to live in September Shumaha's garden, but Rob Brenzy says that that perfection probably an unattainable illusion that will make me beat myself up for want of it...

Yeah, but Still.

The bedroom is prettier, and there is incense burning in it.

<<agé chose>>

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