no, not the swingin' groovy rockers, the blistery rash i get when i am upset. e. is drunk and calling me and accusing me of all manner of delightful things ("luring" him to chicago, among others...)
excuse me, fucker, i told you not to move here for me and if you don't mind, i have more pressing issues on my mind right now than your hurt feelings. like trying to decide which of two unpleasant surgeries might be more likely to save my life. fuck. i am not going to let this ruin my night. i was just getting into a good groove with some writing. perhaps a brief walk will clear my head.