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tender vittles

a new good/fun thing that i do is cruise the viceland.com community forum. there is a topic that is dedicated to me that i didn't start. wow, super popularity. it's so angry and hateful too. intersting to know that when a girl write something for vice, all shit breaks loose.

its cold in my apartment and there are things to be done, like dishes and folding shirts. i wrote the review i needed to have done so that's one accomplishment. why am i so lazy? is it my spoiled, apathetic, easy middle-class upbringing? the kittens at viceland seem to thin so. what bothers me lately is my lack of anything good to write about. like, my creativity was the first thing to go once dope started to take it's toll. so i'm clean now, why isn't it the first thing to come back? all i want are those brain cells that i lost so long ago...and they aint never coming back.

i remember that scene in Happiness when lara flynn boyle is like "why couldn't i have just been raped? then i could actually be a real poet with some integrity and then i would at least have something to write about..."? i always thought that was so funny because i could totally relate in a fucked up way. hence heroin. i just wanted to be jack kerouac. what bullshit.

my warm cat is sitting on my lap right now, purring like a little motorboat. she's the best reason to come home and stay home. sometimes.

i have nothing to write about, not now and not lately, and that scares me more than anyone could ever know.

4:16 p.m. - 2002-04-12

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history - mystery