Hey bitches. I’m at work but life is good anyway. I’ve finally got all those silly rampant emotions squared away in my head and it’s fine. The most valuable words I have in my vocabulary at the moment are ‘Fuck it’. Because fuck it.
This is what I’ve got done today:
- Started to sort out where I’m crashing when I see Amanda Palmer in London in October.
- Priced up transport/accommodation for the Star Trek convention.
- Found a hotel for my trip to Amsterdam.
- Stole/persuaded someone to grudgingly give me a laptop.
- Watched Sean Penn be sexy in This Must Be The Place.
- Read a book.
- Put on deodorant.
That’s LOADS of stuff so basically I win. Except I’ve got a massive spot on my arse which is confusing and upsetting to my mental well being. Is this a sign that my bastard bad skin is making the slow journey from my face to my feet soon to dissipate through my toes into the earth? Or am I inexorably becoming an elephant man style freak of nature? They’ll call me spotty the spot lady. I’ll have dimples and pimples and pimples on my dimples and nothing will be simple. Seriously, there’s people who have had their homes destroyed by hurricanes that would look at this spot on my bottom and say ”Oh honey, I’m so sorry, that’s just terrible.”