telling an audience of unknowns about the thing is a lot easier than telling the people that you know, that you are related to...why now, why this venue was all that people could say a few years back...back when i was going to debut my life, a part of my life on the stage...the only place i've really felt totally comfortable opening up...a blacked out audience...you tell your stories to the light and it feels like you must be talking to god or some kind of higher power...or maybe the police or some terrorist organization...you can't make me talk.

lights...shining in my eyes, on the floor of my kitchen, light in my brain, flashing and flooding angry light and the next thing you know i'm telling the whole story...some of the story at least...and then i wait. i wait for the audience to respond, i wait for the reviews. why didn't you say something before when we could have prosecuted the guilty? who was that? me? you? the nameless, faceless other?

oh snap. snap. snap. snap. please have compassion, please have compassion and call back and maybe we can erase this from our minds, you know, because we can't change the past. why do you tell us such ugly stories, we are completely disturbed and we are completely devistated and can't you see how much that thing that hurt you hurt us how can you do that to us...

there never is a right time to say some things, is there? the more bothersome thing is that i have no fucking idea what to say about it now that it's been said. my stomach's in knots though and my eyes feel itchy and cloudy and all i can do is compulsively print things out...

don't we move our clocks back an hour today? that is...a half hour from now? no, jesse says it's on halloween. weird. i'm in my office, avoiding the end of the shining because i hate the part where the nice old caretaker gets axed. as far as days have been going these last few weeks, today was a pretty good day for me, mood-wise. i feel like i've been brought to you by the following pharamceutical companies...

wouldn't you like to know?

ah yes...art quilts have made quite the statement in the more "traditional" quilt world but it seems that the traditionalists still just can't stand it when people try and address "real" issues...take this piece, the l word, that was pulled from a show from a guild in the northern part of illinois. i shutter to think what will happen to my "pill" piece...

ok, so i'm back on my feet, lalala...well, that's not really true. right now i'm sitting on my ass writing this. my office smells like some kind of perfume/aftershave bizarreness and i'm wondering what the hell happened in here last night after i left. better not to ask, better not to know i'm sure. and it's raining out. and it's friday. and i got up way too early. and c was confused at the role reversal. and there's another debate on tonight. and what can i say really?

so the funny thing about the fentanyl the speed in which it knocks you to z-land. i mean i don't even remember counting backwards before the surgery. but i remember everything about waking up, including the fact that i JUST COULDN'T SEEM TO SHUT THE FUCK UP no matter what i was saying, how annoyed the hospital staff was getting, and how many other post-op patients were getting up thanks to my encouraging them to wake up, join the party. dr b says "ah you're a funny drunk." mmm. something along those lines. but anyway you know that reality show on a&e, i think, called american casino? turns out some guy on that show died of a fentanyl od, apparently taking it for recreational reasons and when i learned that i was like, what, did you think you might have random surgery that night? and i know that's not nice, bad me, bad me...but seriously...i almost said "well, i guess he's stronger than me because that stuff completely knocked me out for surgery, i can't imagine taking it for FUN..." and then i remembered...oh yeah...i guess it knocked him out too.

ok, ok. it's endometriosis. read up about it. i'm still recovering.