a b c d i h a t e t h i s e f g h i j k m n o p e

i have to fait attention to my bowels, and want they want-- since they rule me. please try to understand if i can't say, share some devious treat like i don't know, a piece of wheat bread with you, or a drinky-drink, or say stay up too late, or say indulenge in needlessly stressful conversations. not directed at anyone. i'm just sayin'. anyone want to trace the shape of a swollen adbomen? it hurts direly to touch. i will let you touch it if you rub it for me, clockwise of course, as to not fuck up my energy. it's hurting. it's kind of my fault, kind of my estrogen receptors' fault. fucking estrogen receptors. i should be eating even more soy. my bowels are swollen and my stomach is swollen and my whole digestive system is swollen. can't fit into any of my pants except the two pair i own that each have a huge whole in the crotch that i won't bother to fix. it was pretty depressing getting ready to go out tonight. i ended up wearing a crotchless pair of pants. luckily, we were standing, because i sit like a trucker.

we saw b. a. johnson tonight, who is a true champ and entertainer (even tho the dalhousie gazette pegs him as contrived for wearing his mesh-backed hat sideways). he is truly worth checking out, and his cds are cheap and worth picking up. it makes me really wish that the dirties could perform here, no matter how unlikely it would be to happen even if brian were here. could halifax handle it? i think it would be worth discovering. KC, maybe you could take it to japan, sell out a few venues?

we didn't stay for cuff the duke which was fine. i wanted to see sharp like knives anyway, but chris wasn't into "rock that's not on his cds" lately and so we went to the ocean and again again spilled hearts, spoke frankly, and walked home and are content and now here i am in a green clay mask and g is in brixton, uk, under andrew watt-imposed house arrest along with the rest of the heavy blinkers because they need their "shields up" because "crime is afoot." and so of course when g's dad called, i told him everything was fine. i'm pretty sure i sounded like i was telling outandout lies, but his dad is not swift enough to catch me in it.

piss, my bowels. shit, my bowels. eff, my estrogen receptors. fuck, them all. the discomfort radiates down my legs. this, oh yes this-- is my favourite part.

i look not for sympathy, only for a vent.