stone cold smoker

I'm freezing my tits off. Since I gave my notice, my landlord has made no effort to keep my apartment warm. He's also been smoking his head off. I imagine him down there...lighting up one filthy roll-your-own after another, exhaling toward the ceiling, middle finger stiff and directed heavenward - a big "fuck you very much" to yours truly. Mr. Richard Smoker. Tobacco stained bastard.

Today I hired movers. Good thing I'm comfortably wealthy, otherwise paying strongmen to move me would toss me into a terrifying poverty spiral. I move on Sunday. Man, oh man, I hope I'm doing the right thing. I need to start my job hunt in earnest. Apparently Adbrite isn't going to cover all of my rent. I cannot tell you how long my bangs are. It's truly amazing.

Tonight I'm nursing some fresh old wounds and now I have a stomach ache. Insecurity is a fearsome thing. I wish I could just seal parts of my brain off. Instead, I'm drawn to the sore spots in my head. You know that good kind of pain? Like when you push at your gums with a fingernail...? No? Maybe that's just me. Well, nevermind...this isn't like that. There's no satisfaction whatsoever. Just uneasiness and a vibrating fear that I'm an idiot.

Then again, maybe it's all mountains and molehills. I wouldn't put it past me.

We'll pick this up later.

Kisses on your lipses.