It’s five in the morning. Still dark outside, and I’ve given up on the possibility of going back to sleep. Three hours is enough, right? Right. At least I can read a few emails in the relative silence of the dawn.
One of my internet friends who calls me her Tyler Durden wrote to tell me that she spilled half a bag of blow into the bottom of her vintage bag. It was, as she puts it, a big white mess. (I’m assuming she’s talking about the bag.) I like getting her emails. They are comforting. She doesn’t ask questions so much as she updates me on her life, which is mostly fabulous and occasionally a trainwreck. Good times.
Someone else just wrote in with the following line: “your so annoying you only write back to the shit that you know you will sounds the most intelligent answering.” Well, duh. I’m glad there’s some random fuckface out there in the world annoyed with my intelligence at this ungodly hour. That gives me the warm and fuzzies.
I think I’ll go start my day now. The sun is starting to come up, and I have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours. Should be fun.