|[||mood|||||cannot explain bizarre mood||]|
|[||music|||||AC/DC-if you want blood||]|
"Welcome to the windy city Ms. Donohue, will you be staying long?"
"Not this time, no. Home seems to beckon,"
Just finished what we shall call Heat for the purposes of this conversation. Am left feeling like I could write write write write, but only if it's not related to anything I currently have written. DAMN IT! Must curb impulse to go off on extreme writing tangent. Must also stop writing in Bridget Jones' Diary-like-manner. Cannot seem to stop however.
Arrived in Chicago approximately nine hours ago. Have since watched a stupid movie about a porn star with Rosemary and drawn stupid pictures. Have also spent much time wondering about when Xochitl will come home. At present, nobody seems to know. Am v. annoyed. Despite all "Bridget"-like format, have not actually seen stupid new movie. Liked the book, and thus do not want to ruin the movie. Luckily, cannot make list of all the cigarettes I have smoked today, my current weight, what I ate, and how many drinks I had . . .am smart enough not to monitor myself so closely (also do not smoke or weigh myself obsessively).
Righto, that's enough of that.
To whom it may concern . . .my jaw hurts.