Shit, it's Friday, isn't it? I seem to have a problem with time. It sluices through my hands like water.

I'm the only person I know who never remembers birthdays, anniversaries or the correct day of the week.

Went out Saturday night to see Ivan play in a band. He's now hooked up with two of them. Boy is determined to hit the stage before he hits his dotage. Me, I'd just like to be able to sing on key.

Band is The Loosies, they played two songs as part of the Lou Reed Tribute at Freddy's Back Room in Brooklyn. Afterwards, we all piled into the Jimmy, headed back to Billyburg and proceeded to drink. We stopped in one bar where the bartender didn't know how to make any type of a drink. So I ended up with a greyhound that had four shots of vodka in it. Wobbled into another bar, where, be still my heart, we could smoke! I'll never reveal the name. Actually, I can't remember how we got there, the name or any other identifying detail.

I do remember sitting on Ivan's couch insisting that I had to go home or my cat would pee on the bed and asking repeatedly why the walls were spinning when I was sitting up. Fell asleep with boots off, socks on and woke up with my belt almost by my nose. Sleeping in tights sucks.

Very slowly made my way home. Spent the entire day on the couch. I couldn't move if I wanted to and actually watched masses of TV.

It's been so long since I've gone out--if it's really cold, I won't leave the home. I hate the cold and doubly hate dressing up like the pillsboury doughboy. Yeah, I am a wuss.


The hunt for the literary agent continues. Am thinking about investing in a very large butterfly net and stalking them in the streets.

Exhausted.

Good night