Good Days

This is not going to be a good day.

Not when you've crawled into bed at around five in the morning.
Not when you got kicked outta your comatose state before ten in the morning.
Not when you woke up feeling wet, and, having stuck your fingers into where it felt wet, realized the wetness is all blood - menstrual blood. And - oh fucking great, sister - you've messed up your sheets which you've just washed the day before yesterday.
Not when, disoriented, you wandered out of your studio and knocked on Jen's door wearing nothing but a men's shirt - which manages to be decent by only about an inch - and panties, and ran into a couple outside of your room.
Not when you crawled back into bed and fell into a deep coma and woke up again at twenty to two, wondering if you were awake or dreaming.
Not when you woke up with a woozy head.
Not when you've got a three o' clock coffee date (oops, guess you're late for that now).
Not when you've got a party to attend this evening.
Not when you've got a drink-till-you-get-plastered session after the party which Goddess knows how long it'll last.



Tomorrow prolly won't be a good day either.

Not when you have to wake up in time for the Sunday market so you could get Chinese veges and tofu.
Not when you have a farewell-dim sum-lunch at one.
Not when you haven't gotten Jaya her farewell/birthday pressie.
Not when ...

Oh well, that's about it. For now.



I want to beg off everything and make like a hermit. Fuck, I'm a terrible friend.