The Broken and the Beautiful

Lest you all think I'm exaggerating about the Roxy curse. I really don't exaggerate much here. My life is just fucking bananas. And I don't even delve into my personal social life. That's going to be a major hurdle to deal with in Cancer Is the New Black. (Yeah, that's the partially edited 300-plus-page manuscript adjacent to the baubles. Christ, I hope Roxy's curse can't extend to the manuscript.) Though I really don't editorialize my narrative in that way—it's more pure reportage. My editorializing is done here, which is why I love blogging so much. It's really embarrassing for me to write about S.E.X. because I'm actually a total prude and incredibly private about that part of my life.

The cursed bag.

The goddamned waste of $300 Le Coultre.



One of my favorites—the pocket watch from Edith Ringling's estate. It's the other side, the face that broke.

Mom's restored Tiffany from her high school or junior high years. Thank god this one didn't break; so that $300 wasn't totally wasted.

It's finally beautiful here again, so I've thrown in a (terrible) photo of my view from my couch/'home office.'



A nice distraction, my view. Sometimes I have to remind myself that life isn't all that bad when you've got a view like this. I do so love this view and this apartment. I woke up with some very strange hip/side pain on the left. Which is either sleeping related or another Cancer spot! Let's hope for the former; I'm heading to Chad to see if he can needle it away.

But first a phoner with Dr. Laura, who's going to kick my ass and try to make me optimistic.

I did—while on the toilet nonetheless—realize that my work is not yet done here so I won't die yet. Cool? It's you guys—my longtime readers and commenters who inspire me to move forward with my writing. I've come to think of you guys as like, my grandfathered-in fans. It's weird, I know, but I do have personal relationships with some of you. Anyway, you know who you are and I can assure you your comments and emails and such are always valued.

PS, speaking of toilets, I highly recommend Kathy Griffin's memoir Official Book Club Selection. It's not only LOL funny, but pretty fascinating and poignant—she's led a very interesting life. It's one of the few books that scores in all three of my book-reading categories—gym book (fast-paced, entertaining); toilet book (so addictive you just can't even put it down for a short poop); and bedtime book (something I can look forward to before crashing out.)

Yup, girls have toilet reading material too. TMI? Too bad. Who do you think invented the concept of toilet reading? It's fairly odd right?