And there goes another kiss-less midnight. Fuck whoever came up with that tradition anyway.
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Ainley approved
…goddamnit, I just want a time machine so I can go back and hug him once more…
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Now I want a sandwich…
…actually, this is a frighteningly accurate bit of insight into my issues with food, money, and self-esteem (to name but three).
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» Reblog if you'd like 3 messages from a curious anon.
Why I keep doing these when I almost never get any response, I couldn’t tell you.
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Who else is at home and poking around Tumblr instead of out tonight?
Anyone? Bueller?
Yo.
Ditto. Scenic Ohio does not give us much to do, and there are no sexy times to be had until the rest of the house goes to bed.
Hi! I don’t have any excuses, though, I’m just antisocial. :)
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
(Had an invitation to a party in SF, and found out this afternoon that Caltrain is free after 11pm and running extra south-bound trains till 2am, but I still didn’t have the money to get TO the city in the first place…and even if I found it, I never actually got the address for the party. So basically, fail.)
I made the comment to Doug tonight that after he’s gone I have this horrid fear that I’m going to turn into an over-the-hill party girl to make up for all these nights I’ve spent at home, and it’ll just be fucking tragic.
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It will surprise few of you that this features in my current set of fantasy fodder. (Considering the object of my
afflictionaffection, it only stands to reason.)I’m still trying to figure out, however, what it says about me that “my current set of fantasy fodder” all appears to take place at a point in my life after Doug is already dead.
And I’m having trouble believing I just admitted that to the internet.
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I’m sitting here looking at this photo, and wishing I’d never read his autobiography. Because now, the first thing I think when I see a photo from his heyday or hear one of his songs is “…I hope he’s okay.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s a brilliant read. But it’s an unflinching look at his ongoing battle with bipolar disorder - and every time it gets the upper hand, he sinks deeper….
I was listening to “Antics In The Forbidden Zone” a few weeks back, and got to “Viva Le Rock” (the last track on the disc) - and had to shut it off. Because I immediately pictured his performance from LiveAid. And knowing what I know now, I look back at that footage, and it’s so obvious that he’s in a manic phase (he’s jittery in a way that goes beyond performance high). Hearing the song actually hurt.
So that’s your depressing ’80s Musician ramble for the day.
And I do hope he’s okay.
