22.Oct.2001

when you've got to feel it in your bones

--

you know i'm not a saint

Mandatory lunch with brother today, although he stated over the phone he's suffering a tumorous headache. I plan on buying him beer to help alleviate this.

Friend of the Family who has The Studio seriously flaked out on me last night, and I was forced to count in my head how much I'm willing to dip into my savings to record vocal-less, acoustic tracks to send to no one in particular.

I plan on purchasing vodka today and allowing it to run roughshod over me tonight. Finding suitable freezer space for this delicious bottle of pain-be-gone juice worries me for all of ten seconds.

I spend far too much time singing Radiohead in the shower.

Thom Yorke is my rockstar boyfriend, according to this useless online test. Of course, given our similarities, we'd probably never speak to each other.

My stomach is antsy. It can't decide if it wants to officially kick my ass for the remainder of the day or let me go free.

Peter called last night as I was shutting off the computer, and we talked for three and a half hours. Mainly he talked about teenaged things I've lost the ability to understand. I found myself staring at the ceiling fan while he went on and on and on, and his voice became the blades in this fan, round and round and round.

I finally fell asleep at seven this morning only to be awoken four hours later.

When you've got to feel it in your bones.



--

time & machine