Monday evening musings.

I am in Brooklyn after the “MFer” party last evening, something I thought I could enjoy more than I should have. Which means I shouldn’t have. Drunk skunk Deanna has been getting a little more combative lately when she’s trashy. Or so I’ve been told, which saddens me because I have always pimped myself out as soft and squishy and drippy while drunkest.

I have been in bed all day with my party time friend that just won’t leave. Good thing I gots me some good Vicodin so I can be ultra-drugged out. I do happen to believe that being spun into a narcotic-induced coma makes the very idea of watching TV much more tolerable. Though this sick in E’s bed thing is becoming a little more routine than I would like to admit.

Oh well. Hopefully my party time friend leaves soon. I never want to see it again.

It’s funny how, for some people, physical strife can be a motivating inspiring factor in the creative process. For me, being sick drains every iota of creative genius from my being and makes everything that comes out that much more mundane. I suppose you should be feeling your best even when you are expressing the worst.

I hope B doesn’t kill my dog, but I feel like I have called in so many favors lately that I should just shut my trap.

Wow. So this my attempt to be light-hearted and lovely about my little “situation” for lack of a better word. Anything else would be negative, after all. I’m trying.

I really am.