fuck my bronchial tubes.

i've been sick for what feels like weeks now and in spite of my efforts to ward off bronchial infections and allergies, by means of no less than six medications, i seem to have gotten worse not better. which means that yesterday, i called in to work, a luxury that i wish could be extended indefinately, but won't because i a) can't afford it and b) don't really think trader joe's patience is infinite.

my life seems to be chaotic lately; i spend entirely too much money, can't seem to get enough sleep (let alone make it to bed before four in the fucking morning), and am constantly perplexed by a sudden influx of female attention and my inability to accept/return that affection gracefully.

on top of all that, i miss the pacific northwest and every day seems to be a reminder of how i was spending my time this time last year. which brings me back to the recurring theme of this journal--my nostalgia for a period in my life that objectively, 100 percent no doubt about it, was much much more trying than anything that's happening write now.

so, i propose a compromise. because, of course, everything revolves around me and only me, every single last person that i care about from both coasts must accompany me to minneapolis, where we'll begin our lives anew on neutral ground. R.S.V.P. no later than June 1st.