FIRST OF ALL:
I’m fucking tired, y’all.
As many of you know, I work a normal job that I totally love and that keeps me typing away on my computer all day, and then I go home and crank out new articles for The Junkyard by night. This leads to my being on a computer for at minimum, 12 hours a day. My wrists, my eyes, and my boyfriend are pretty tired of it. So is my brain. Not to mention June has been a month of unrelenting bullshit, so fuck it. Fuck June.
Fuck everything. I’m exhausted.
I’m going to beach myself stupid this week and not write a single goddamn thing about the arts. Or maybe more, because after they peel my leathery, gin-soaked body from the sand, I’ll be on a plane to Atlanta for work and fuck if I’m going to have time to write about the arts then. Sorry world, you will have to get by for a week. Maybe I’ll have some guest writers, maybe not. Fuck it. We’ll do it live. Suck my dick. I’m going to Shabooms.
See ya, suckers. I’m fuckin’ out.