wednesday morning

today is a day for whining and feeling eight-years-old. i go into surgery tomorrow. i am scared. i might die (not likely, but still, there's that minute possibility). i'm gunna get what i want today.

i'm gunna leave work early today. i'm gunna have ice cream for dinner and cheesecake for dessert (even though these things will certainly make my gallbladder feel intensely worse, i don't want my last meal to be a fruit smoothie). i'm gunna insist on a massage while i monopolize the television set watching "survivor" and smoking bowl after bowl from my happy homemade tequila-bottle-bong. you better believe i'm gunna get some nookie. i'm gunna curl up with the man i love and drool all over his chest (and he's gunna love it). i'm gunna dream the best dreams ever, of love and happiness and hedonism.

to my lover: i dedicate to you the Song of Songs