01.11.10

maybe if I just type I'll have something to say.

maybe not.

. . .

if I were smart, I'd leave it at that. But I want to talk, dammit. And I'm not going to apologize for that dammit. Or the lack of caps at the beginning of this post.

I'm spending too much time alone. Which is sad and stupid because I have an awesome apartment that begs for a party.

I used to throw wonderful parties.

Where the hell am I? Where the hell are you?

. . .

Once upon a time, a friend wondered where I was. So he put it at the top of the agenda: "Where the hell is Sarah?" It was an inside joke that is now a really important memory.

That friend taught me what it means to be an artist. Those friends taught me.

Dear Friend. I miss being your friend, and I miss being an artist with you. Editorgirl. Sarah.