2003-04-10 - 1:35 a.m.

So I guess I had nothing to worry about as far as my rage. Be careful what you wish for.

Tonight I had white russians and sushi. The sushi was homemade and damn good, quite possibly the best I've ever had, and a good bargain too. The vodka just sort of poured into me and sat there. I don't feel drunk in the traditional sense, though I think I should be, or I am and I don't know it. I'm not slurring or staggering or crying, I'm just pissed off. I want to beat my fists into bloody stumps against the cement. I want to explode into my three component elements: Bile, Batter, and Butterflies. All over the god damn sidewalk and up under the awnings. Dripping sick and greasy into the cracks between the bricks and fluttering limply after the moon. I want to melt like the witch of the west. Why? Someone has my pretty shoes, and I'll never have them back. It's not mature, its not good, no one respects it, but it's there, just underneath my smile and handshake.

In the larger picture, the iraqis have been defeated, liberated, whatever, and beat the crap out of some statues. Good for them, everybody likes fucking shit up. Don't worry about saddam, hes safe and sound at camp david, clinking martinis with GW and Osama and the three of them are planning their next caper. Don't say you heard it here, but I think it involves blowing up the Olsen twins and blaming it on Madagascar.

Meh. Maybe I am drunk.

Favourite song today: "When we Were Queens" -Blue Meanies

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