I am sick like wow. Reverting to a primal infantile mental state, I will murder anyone who tries to interfere with my napping. I made a soundtrack to my muggy sick dreams so we can all nap together. I am hanging up an art show this weekend. This painting of Suri Cruise won't get finished. I kind of want to burn everything in an epic personal fire, including my own face. But it's beautiful outside, heavy clouds and the air smells like nutmeg.
Do yourself a favor and read this:
you don't want to go in there
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