November 22nd, 2002



Once a year I usually get a horrible craving for White Castle hamburgers, which I used to eat regularly (usually while I was drunk as a sailor). So, with Sarah sleeping and me on my own for this afternoon (she was awake for about 24 hours, going around the clock to get on a better sleep schedule. I'm trying to cut back on my sleep time to do the same. We go through this depressing tag-team sleep schedule several times a year) I went through the dreaded WC drive-thru after running errands and playing pinball (Stern's Monopoly pin) and ordered six square little "hamburgers", a small paper sack of galvanized "onion rings" and a small plastic cup of some liquid that was supposed to be Coca-Cola-like in nature.

And I am regretting it like fuck. Yes, I know that's a grammatically incorrect, senseless statement (just like this one, I'm sure). I don't care. I am regretting it like fucking fuck. Either I'm getting too old for this garbage, or White Castle is using a creepier cut of snakemeat. I want to die. Die die die. This stuff is killing me.

If I survive, I'm going out for Friday night kick flicks at the Lawgiver's. Tomorrow night they're having a reunion party for the Red Spot, a club I used to work at and jump around at and get super-skunk drunk. I'm too old for that stuff, too. Supposedly hundreds of people are showing up, it looks like it'll be the high school reunion I never went to. Wonder if anyone will show up with their Robert Smith hair intact...

Oh god, I'm going to be very sick after I post this.