Thank F...

Writing to remember is hard work. It's much more rewarding to sit down and pound away at the keyboard, willy nilly. I told myself I was going to bed at 10. I'm a big fat liar. The last two nights I got 6 hours of sleep each night. In my world this is 66.66% of the sleep I need in a night. It's not beauty sleep either it's just what I need to not melt down. You should see my ugly face.

At least I'm not fat, I've got that going for me. Anorexia has been a very successful weight loss regimen. You could fit my ass in my Ms. Bitch teacup. Shaq could palm my butt cheeks in one hand and still have room left over.  Cancer treatment perks. It took me a year to figure out how to replace the oversized photo of my forehead dominating the top of the blog. Tyra Banks, I love you, your forehead is bigger than mine.

Being a teeny little person like a bird with no feathers you have to pretend to be tough so nobody wants to fuck with you. The punk era of the 80's was kind of like being schooled by a bitter teacher. And being surrounded by intimidating kids taught me to act like one too, at least in appearance. Once you talked to me you'd figure out real quick that I was not like that at all.

I liked shows a lot though, and really, people watched out for you. In a good pit, the guys will protect you-- except from flying objects. I've been landed on, kicked in the head. I've gotten shoved into pits by accident. All kinds of shows can be dodgy. I practically had my ribs broken at Love and Rockets. I've never been so squished before. Punk shows were actually worse. This one was just packed. Daniel Ash *sigh... I couldn't breathe, but I had the best view. Front and center. Bitch spot.

I guess I'm not going to write about my stuff after all. It's too much. I'm getting dizzy, and feel nauseas. I am sleep deprived. I should just go to bed. I hope it's not my skull mets being naughty. I can't have that. I was going to write about that latest dx, but when it's time to retire, it's time! G'night