Archives for the 'pms' Category
The Last Sunsets
My very first thought upon waking this morning was, “What’s it going to be like to be dead?”
Great. One of those one of those days!
TMI redux
Today when Mr. Pistol came home from work, he asked me how I was doing. (How chivalrous!) “Fucking horrible,” I said. “My hormones hate me. God hates me. And my tits are carrying the weight of the world.”
Heh.
But seriously. Earlier I was walking in midtown and a businessman smiled right at them. That was a […]
I’ve. Got. Nothing.
I am so far from being on top of my game that it’s as if I don’t even know The Game exists. I’m like, Game? WHAT GAME?
Or else it’s like: I find myself standing barefoot on the field in a tattered nightgown with cold cream on my face and curlers in my hair, and everybody […]
fuck.
I can feel like a very very bad bad person person about things but if I take my toothbrush to work with me and brush my teeth after lunch then I feel like I’m making up for a lot of the bad things.
Can’t wait to go out and get drunk with Pistol tonight. It’s been […]