Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!

so long

Wow. I was a little miffed there, eh? Sigh.

I seem to have embarked on some kind of involuntary / unplanned physical cleanse post-SXSW. I've been getting shakes from Juice-It (Love. Love. Love.) for the last few mornings in an attempt to regulate my body from some whacked out dehydration / food poisoning bout that left me puking on the floor of a venue bathroom like a drunken seventeen year old this past Saturday, and as a result relegated me to a room in the Omni hotel for the last two days of our trip to Austin. It was a nice hotel and all, but the whole thing really sucked balls.

Anyway -- so as a result of all this, I haven't had coffee for like, five days. First out of sheer fear, and then out of I'm not quite sure what but whatever the case, I'm off the juice.

I wish it was the same for getting over girls. Throw up for thirty-six hours. Detox. Get rest. Drink plenty of fluids. Emerge five days later on the up-and-up. But if it were that easy, we'd all just be sane and like, fine. Which would be boring, I suppose. Or something. I don't know. All I know is that I'm still all emotionally entangled and that I've given myself my birthday (mid-May) as a cutoff for all of this, because at that point I will have invested six months of my life, heart, head, and everything into a situation that's leaving me clutching onto ghosts of what might have happened, like two perfect Polaroids in a garage full of useless clutter. You put the Polaroids in a scrapbook and call for a dumpster, you know? You don't move into the garage.

Most everyone I know has been riding this out with me. Some, not so much. But I'm doing the best I can. My patters are so clear it's disgusting -- it's been suggested to me that maybe it's time for some outside assistance to get down to some root causes. We'll see about that.

So much coming up. Including a possible five-minute jaunt to the east coast to catch a few days of tour. But that's still up in the air. Fingers crossed.

Love, fifteen-passenger vans, and double wheatgrass shots,


you don't bring me flowers

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