And so it begins again. One more light bulb on my mirror. Take one out and screw in another. Angels with dirty faces. I check my mail religiously. The hits don't stop coming. Like a #tornado it wipes everything away. I want to rock you like a hurricane. #Dirty dreams. It all hit at once. Maybe a sce…

Um hum, really filthy girl, according to scads of Xanga people who have been scolding me for a variety of things over the past day. Yes! It's true! I liked a boy that was taken! Me dirty! Yes, it's true! I'm a practicing lesbian. Dirty dirty girl! Yes, it's true, I'm a drunkard lately. DIR…

Yesterday, I went to the campus bookstore to sell back my ridiculously large property book. The thing has 1150 letter-sized pages with 12-point font. There are very few pictures. It's massive. A lot of other students had their book split and collated so that they didn't have to carry it around all t…

I am borrowing the title of a 1955 song composed by David Mann and Bob Hilliard and plaintively sung by Sinatra in his album of the same name, in which he mourns a lost love. Presumably he couldn't sleep either. Insomniacs do what they can to get through the night. Tonight Turner Classic movies sh…

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