Live from Omega

It's about to storm here in Rhinbeck, New York. THANK GOD, I say, because the humidity is breaking me. That, and the writing, have brought in a funk. I tried today to pretend myself out of it, but it's strong, and resistance is futile. Bring on da funk.

Writing funks me. Because I am sick, sick, sick of writing about my stepdad. It sucked, I know that, we all know that, I've written about it, can't I please, pretty please, move on now and write about any other fucking thing from my life? It seems not. I will try to give the topic an extra wallop this week to perhaps drain its power some. The resulting funk will just have to be endured.

My weight increases in ten-pound increments during a funk. My face alone has ballooneed since this morning. I become not only enormous, but hideous, as well, in a very unlikeable way. The kind of person you want to avoid because they ooze pathetic-ness all over you. Darn it all.

Other than that, the workshop and traveling experiences have been a great time. I love these broads. Our roadtrip from Chicago was a good time; they are pros, three of them being singers. It's fun to hear of their travels, their crazed fans, their lives. It's good to be around fellow tomboys, too.

Lynda is really great. She's spoiling us gals.