Toof, bitten

I am so exhausted.

My whole sleep schedule has been all weird and fucked up. I haven't gone to the gym in a long time, and haven't really been eating very well. I have vague annoying physical abnormalities (am i really breaking out but only on my forehead? Really?) but I am just too tired to even be a hypochondriac. That is something to be thankful for, at least. I'm too busy to worry if this canker sore is cancerous or not. Last night when I posed this question to my friends, Tommy and Mickey, independent of each other though in unison, both answered "Yes, it's definitely cancer. Obviously." without even looking up from their respective magazines (Mickey was reading the Vogue Italia "All-Black" issue which I obviously pore over every day-- shoot me in the face, and Tommy was reading Chinese take-out menus, that's what I mean by magazines).

Yesterday the Trannibal crew (most, anyway) came over to my apartment. Paps shot me for a secret photo project that I can't reveal but it involved a lot of laying around. Mickey Pussy brought over her button maker and we all made buttons of our faces. Is that weird? I made a bunch of Courtney Love buttons. Tommy and I watched cartoons and ordered take-out.

I wanna go off by myself and just sleep, for a day. Soon I'll get to. Not really. I dunno when my next entire day off will be. When I was a temp, calling in sick was such a beautiful thing. I wasn't "really" working anywhere, and nothing I did as a temp was incredibly vital (I once spent seven hours, at my boss' behest, to "just check email so people will see you on a computer and you'll look busy"-- for $16 an hour, too). I could just call in sick. I'd stay in all day listening to records and writing letters to my friends and doing laundry and catching up with myself.

I want a vacation. Or something.

I really like this song, it feels very "springtime" to me. I wish I was as bouncy and optimistic as this.

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