Harry Potter, here is a list of people who have died from Lorazepam (Ativan).
This revelation has led me to try and quit drinking, which is working out reasonably well. Thanks, lamictal, for making my attempts at social drinking end up with me still sober and headachy, and everyone else loopy loos.
However, today is my birthday - I'm 33, whee! Jesus died at 33. I certainly will not. I'm feeling pretty good for a no-longer spring chicken. I remember freaking out when I left my teens. My thirtieth birthday was such fun, glossed over by calartiness, that I wasn't too upset. However, today I'm facing adulthood full square in the face. Yipes.
It's cool, though, really. I'm enjoying where I'm at right now, if only I could kick the writer's block that steps in front of me, like a fierce Tyra Banks, and says, "what, you're thinking about writing? how could you, you have nothing good to say!" So then I blog about my personal life, and everything's ok until the next time I get the urge to write another novel, which I really want/need to do.
But the question, as ever, is what to write it about? I could just do short pieces until something jells, I suppose? I recently lost all the data in my external hard drive, I dropped the damn thing....urrrgh. So unless I retype a bunch of shit, the old fragments I might have cannibalized are gone gone gone. This makes it seem even weirder. I looked back on the folder of stuff I'd printed out the last time I got all charged up, and so much of it was shite.
"A Day in LA: Washington Blvd Art Concert", on October 11th. Katie and Omar and I just went driving through Culver City in search of the perfect spot(s) for our readings. I found a great big blue-poles and glass building called, "Imperial & Wholesale Electric Supply." It's right next to the river and the intersection of Washington Blvd and La Cienega. I'll be there from 4:30 - 5:00 pm, with the reading starting at 4:45 pm.
I'm really excited about this. I haven't read out in public since the Next Words reading when I graduated from CalArts, and that was at least a year ago. Possibly two. Time gets weird for me, y'know.
Vergangenheitsbewaltigung, which means the struggle to come to terms with the past. That's also the name of her zine, which she will be handing out at this here church around 3:30 pm.
I'm sitting here waiting for darling K to come home from school, defrosting the birthday steaks, drinking coffee that is probably a bad idea. Oh well, It's my birthday, dammit.