Have decided to e-mail my draft of next noir to S. in case I die. I always set out on each trip with the thought in mind: "If I die..." If the plane crashes, it'd be terrible if all my recent work lay moldering on my hard drive while my body lay in fiery pieces on the tarmac. Posthumous publishing, please.
My landlords will just have to suck up the fact that I am--was--a lazy slob, if they are required to clean out my apartment. S., you can have my Queer as Folk DVDs. You and A.--just take anything you want, okay? Cool. Show my landlords this post if they kick up any fuss.
I suppose I should really go pack. I'm kind of moody and lonely this morning and full of nerves. And still very tired. Suddenly got my period yesterday. Well, I say "suddenly" when nature has this habit of coming around once a month and bleeding me dry, so it's not as if it were unexpected. But anyway. Nothing like soaring above the earth at twenty-thousand feet when you're crampy and psychotic. They should just put me in a cat carrier.
I'm feeling the need to say "I love you" before I go off to