Dear diary, I actually am sick of crime stories. I said,Cosmo not the freaking New York Times. My grammar and punctuation has tipped perfection as people who dont put commas in the right places should really just jump off a cliff. I am not punctuating this blog entry- for gods sake gimme something that i can type rubbsih on adn not wrry bout grmmar. I want to be like Dan. You know, a poet or something dark and mysterious. Maybe smoke camel and perv on people. or move to paris and write a novel. I have too many distractions so im really rethinking the idea of moving up to the himalayas with the monks and find my inner peace or something. but then id have to go cold turkey on all my disgusting, cheap habits. and my mind would have to be pure. yeah right.
anyway, that wont be happening until i start wrinkling, oh the joys of getting old and surrendering to the goodness and nature. we are living too fast arent we? My thoughts, priorities and clothes are scattered everywhere. How can I be so stable yet so unstable?
The heart can be at two places at once. always have, always will be.
Anyway, back to the point of this entry...best hangover food. Id say fresh strawberries and trader joe's soy ricecrackers. ohh they are so gooooood. and tylenol to cure that excruciating throbbing pain.
