Is It Progression If A Cannibal Uses A Fork?

**In regards to my last entry…yes…I did put laxatives in the brownies. I’m not a tease. To quote Chiodos.."If your stomach feels weak than my work here is DONNNNNNNNNNNNE!**

I’m not sure why I’m being such a productive citizen this week, but apparently my main goal is to limit the time spent at my apartment to nothing more than urinating and grabbing my coffee mug. I came home last night (err. early morning?) to shower. Then went back to the studio.

Just as well. Roommate was having some sort of sisterhood of the gap pants party. Twats! I guess Daddy Warbucks is not so happy about moving his precious to a new place. (Yes, in my head I said "precious" with a Gollum accent. Fuck you.)

Talked to Dad this morning. He’s doing worse than he lets on; I can hear it in his voice. It made me want to haul ass over there, but I’ve got a few more weeks till I can leave. Mmmgrumblegrumplefrazzlefuck.

This afternoon, I’m headed over to that tat shop to talk to my client. Since I’m leaving for (……), I need to push back the apprentice gig. If I decide to do it. I don’t know why, but I’m just not feeling it. Could be my stress…possibly stretched to thin creatively. But nah. I’ll just blame PMS. And Nazis.

I need a good fuck. But I’d take a good book, too.

Suggestions?