04 december 2005: she could see from my face that i was fucking high

I can’t believe it’s 2:30 AM and I’m still in Jenny’s office because she’s nice enough to let me use it to finish this essay for nerve which is pulling me in so many different directions, none of which, I fear, is “well-written.”

It’s cold outside

Last night a street guy with a tarp of stuff asked me and Lo if we needed a handbag and I said “yeah, she does,” and cracked up and she thought I told him that she had change for him and I was like no, it was funny because she already had about three bags on her right then, and I had my sixteen gallon backpack and I mean, come on, the last thing either of us needed was a handbag.

We had cheeseburgers at Around-The-Clock, sort of almost-buzzed from the standard mixed juice-vodka bottles and almost-stoned from a Found Joint and everything was delicious and freezing.

There was a nerve party several days ago
which was, really, quite fun,
though i threw up all day thursday.
I’m blaming the chicken soup i had Wenesday evening
because I only had four drinks—
two at the party—warm beer—and two after with a cute artist boy from princeton that i met at the nerve party.

Krista tells me bad things about my state upon returning home.
Luckily, she had already cut my hair the night before so she didn’t have to hold it back for me or anything.

Poor Krista. Poor Me.