because

just one of those days where my eyelids were little, pink blankets of raw.

im honest enough to admit that i am vain, in the sense i worry about the crushing workload and how it will effect my skin, because some of my jobs rely on such superficial characteristics.

if there was a time i could have used vodka in my orange juice to help me through the morning, today would have been the day.

they miss talking to me, but they dont really miss me. i dont know why that pisses me off so much.

i have never been so stoked to climb into my pajamas and stay home on a saturday night.

i cant turn off my brain, but im running on empty.

because as artists, as lovers, more or less the same, we are prostitues within our own.

because we do and we pursue because we know we cannot live without.

because we have the ability to laugh at what once made us cry.

because we have no choice, and we wouldnt have it any other way.