Well, I was gonna eat. And I was gonna sleep. And I was gonna fulfill other needs by methods described poetically being writerly and non-red-lined.

Things from yesterday are still fairly relevant. I think I've earned my sleeping pill. Benedryl. I won't say what happened to get me here, or that I feel nausea, a kind of sickness that a puke won't dislodge. And it's not "society", or this, or that.

I've lapsed, yes, let it be said. Let it also be said that this lapse doesn't count. You know I'm not one to bullshit, so you can count on me when I say this doesn't count. Honestly though, I'd have saved a lot of vigor and money if I'd gone to a meeting instead of snifflin the crystals. And. Then. So.

Enso. I can't ignore its existence and the splaterns of evil and angelic bliss swirling around that hair studio, as if I didn't know, and I don't. Pay no mind. Pay no mind atall. Hallucinations, nothing more. Nothing less. I just wanted to say, post-break-down-tune-up-pre-apocalypse-reverse-jinx: there's something about that girl and that scene and that house and that studio and her friends, the taberfucks, and whatnot, that makes me re-evaluate things - what the fuck is health, do you think? I'm not taking solicitations, unless they're sexual. As per usual. You know.