15.Mar.2004
don't waste your time on me
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official count-down
I'm sick again, of course, but I wouldn't shed more than the time it's going to take you to devour this broken sentence to fret about my silly immune system because:
I'm fine.
A couple of years ago, I had a bit of an STD scare. All of my fears and doubts were finally struck dead following a slew of blood-work, which found nothing but PCOS, all STD tests be damned and negative.
Of course to celebrate, in pure, "I've spent all year dieting, let's go get seventeen cheeseburgers!" fashion, I am going to fuck everyone I encounter from this point onward.
I jest. Less than a third of you are worthy enough. You'll also be proud to know my previous one night stand ended with six straight hours of talking and flailing about platonically in music. Yes. It can be done. Try it, someday.
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Frantically rushing to and fro The Shower of Hell(tm) this morning, another package arrived at my doorstep. This time, it was a replacement bear from the Christmas teddy this glorious creature sent me. His tiny heart is outlined to express to the world, "I love New York". He will be coming with me.
Thank you so much, sweetheart. I value these packages. I owe you Things(tm); as soon as my machine begins to function properly again, I will construct Things(tm) for you.
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Despite physically shaking off the remnants of the Rape Your White Blood Cells ailment, I am physically superb, despite slowly regaining lost weight.
On top of this, emotionally I've been vacillating, but dare I tell you lot things you don't already know. My frail central nervous system still shimmers at memories from week(s) past. Pumped with vitamins and antibiotics, I prevail toward another outcome that longs to outstrip the previous. There's just something I require before I depart. Flesh to caprice. Touch to whim. The phantom pen against the bar napkin. There's just something I desire.
And, beneath my Southern window, curled in fetal position with my dilapidated cell-phone, I fell into a NyQuil slumber while Jason, my Musical Comrade for Life, facilitated the dreaming by leaving me pleasantly to U2's "Mothers of the Disappeared" through the wireless ether.
I simply awoke loving it.
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time & machine