I feel, from moment to moment, like crying. I’m breathing and visualizing and meditating my way through the day sans xanax because I’m sick, I can’t smoke with this viral infection in my chest, so it’s all on me. It’s not a good mix.

I can’t write. I can’t write. That drives me nuts. Read that last paragraph again. What crappy sentence construction!

So I’m backing away. Everything I write is shit right now.

So tomorrow, I’ll tell you about what happened to me today on Twitter. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you why women are crazy to date. Tomorrow, we’ll talk and laugh and lament together. But tonight, I need to rest.

Is it bad that I feel the need to contribute to your life every day?