OK, if I’d had a recent miscarriage, or ever had one, or lost a child or anything of the sort that might explain why I just had a huge sobbing cry listening to “Playboy Mommy.” It’s dangerous to neglect one’s Tori-listening for way too long. I lost the desensitization necessary to hear someone practically cut her womb and brain and heart out and let me listen.
Just finished From the Choirgirl Hotel. Visiting with Liitle Earthquakes now, and I will probably need intense therapy afterward. Oh Goddess, why the PMS? I’m down with the bloody moon synch groove, I’m OK with the fucking acidtrip of an idea that made you think I needed two vaginas & cervixes even. But seriously, why the hell do I have to be a snotty wet psychotic exposed nerve for seven days a month?
Somebody come lock up the henna. (I look vaguely ill with red hair but it’s calling me. Damn you Tori! Actually it’s a chestnut color but it has henna in it so I’m pretty sure it’d be redder than the box says.)
w00t! Lexie just called! Squee! Hi Lexie:)