I've felt some sort of calm creep into my flesh and mind the last few days. Coming on for a while, but it is tangible now. And it may ebb later, but it is nice to be able to think clearly, at leisure, like floating as apposed to thrashing and splashing and gulping.

Damn, all this queso is going straight to my inner thighs. Oops. I don't know how i am going to combat all this tex mex. I sitll feel pretty. Destined to have the body of a burlesque dancer.Ha ha ha, Dirty Dancing? That movie! When they are dancing on the log. Girl in her white jeans and bare feet and that hair do. I had that do. I had all the dos that you could ever imagine in the 80s, having a mother who was a haidresser and would oblige my request to have madonnas hair in the vouge video, a sixties filp inspired by Lady Miss Kier in the Groove is in the Heart video(never could find any goddamned go go boots in the eight grade! But damn, could she perfectly tease the crown of my head due to all those crotchety old ladies hair she had to fuck with at work). By the time high school rolled around and i was skating and shit, she even shaved the underside of my head and dyed my hair blue with mainc panic bought at concrete wave, although she wouldn't shave it as high as i wanted it, dyed it black and cut me killer bangs inspired by uma thurman in pulp fiction, and most recently cut it into a virtual mullet Joan Jett sttyle. Mom, my good old personal hair cheedleader. I was a cheerleader in the eighth grade when we moved to east brookfleld. There were only thirty kids in my class and Karen and Erin, the honorary popular girls begged me to do it, even though my fuck-the-man-and-sports-and-all-things-quo sensibilities that were already burgeoning said it was a retardo idea. But, i had fun, these chicks form a rival school walked by us in the hall at a home game and were all like "nice fucking ribbons" (we wore blue and white ribbons in our ponytails) and i said "go screw," and the lesbian basketball coach heard me and chewed me out in a storage closet . Almost kicked me off the motley squad and i was like "they said fuck, all i said was screw, is that even a swear?!" The fucking history teacher was our coach. we were terrible. "Blue and White, win tonight" that was our major cheer. I mean, c'mon. I was also in the marching band. Pre-frosh. Very presigious to be in the high school marching band in the eighth grade. Trombone. We wore mirrored sunglasses and berets and cumberbunds and ascots and spats. Fucking spats. We played a fucking marching band version of a styx song (rockin' the paradise) and a who song (i can see for miles) and a simon and garfunkel (bridge over troubled water) song and holy bad other songs. Band camp was hell. two weeks. 6am to 8 pm. Slave drivers. It was at the 4h camp in the dead heat of august. Fucking piccolo player used pass out on the feild all the time. Haha. One time....at band camp.....