sometimes I just make out.

sometimes I make things of an informative, instructive nature.  sometimes people respond.  favorably.

I've come to the conclusion that I want the IHT to write my obit whenever I pass:


I mean, really.  That's fantastic writing right there.  You couldn't ask for much more.  But it goes on.

Compared to that one paragraph, obituaries that should have been well-written, salacious tell-alls come across as utterly banal, monotonous wastes of time and text.  [Every obituary of Hunter S. Thompson comes to mind.  Although, I suppose when a brilliant writer lives such an openly wild life (and reports back to the straight world about it), any other writer's attempt to summarize it could only be an utterly boring pile of crap...  Whatever.]

Anyway. 

Rest well, old man.

Slavoj Zizek must be having a field day with this:
http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/11/11/europe/balkans.php

better plan, no?

still hate my life.

leaving here might make it brighter.

I hate my life.

it's hardhardHARD hard.

whatever.  packed or not, I'll be in New York on Saturday evening.

see everyone soon.

Randy's gone.  he flew out on Thursday.

after an intensely stressful week of coping with Randy's mystery illness (which included trips to the emergency room and rushing to see various doctors) and his impending departure, he's finally just...gone.

and that in itself has been difficult.

truth be told, after dropping him off at the airport, I was devastated.  but, since I join the man at the end of the week, I suppose I just need to calm down.

he hasn't been able to eat or drink anything.  I don't know what to do.

beside myself with grief.

stressed.  withering away myself.