fuck fuck fuck fuck

and also fuck.

i suppose it's fairly plain to anyone that knows me at all that i am a terrible brat. i like to get my way, i'm insufferably vain, and i complain vociferously if all does not go according to plan.

so i shall commence here by pointing out that contracting the clinging cold from the depths of the 9th circle of hell a week and a half before my show was most certainly not according to any plan of mine.

so, fuck.

i figured that a week and a half should be plenty of time to recover. and i suppose, i must admit, things are better than they were. thursday before last i could only croak. now i'm back at about 80%. but i simply must point out... that sucks.

i mean, i'm hardly a virtuoso on the guitar. passing fair is generous. what i have, what i am is a voice. it's the best thing about me and it's being unreliable at the worst possible time. which makes me want to cry and break things. instead i'm going to take a break and fold some laundry.