Friday, January 30, 2004
My girl has fallen ill, probably a result of taking care of a bunch of 3 year old petrie dishes. She came home a little lushy after having a drink with her dad, so I couldn't really tell how sick she actually was and is. She's sleeping it off now. Pulp Fiction is playing silently in the background, with the occasional sound of gunfire breaking the quiet. My stomach's doing tornado spins. Stupid smoothie. We haven't had dinner yet and I have no idea if we'll be dining at all tonight. Not unless you call a twist of Sweet Tarts dinner. I hope she feels better in the morning.
And I hope I don't get sick either, although I've already had my tongue in her mouth tonight. Fuck it. It's not like I'm gonna miss work or anything. The love's worth it.
Hm...I'm hungry. Might as well throw some tacos or something into the blender in my gut.
And I hope I don't get sick either, although I've already had my tongue in her mouth tonight. Fuck it. It's not like I'm gonna miss work or anything. The love's worth it.
Hm...I'm hungry. Might as well throw some tacos or something into the blender in my gut.
