black death in a gel-cap

in my never-ending search for an effective sleep aid, i purchased some herbal remedy at Fred Meyer that is the exact shade of black one should probably never ingest. if i should actually die before tomorrow, well, i suppose you could think of me as having gone out happy, having finally found something that could knock me out in 60 minutes or less.

if i'm checking my myspace messages at 3am however, i'm not leaving my doctor's office on friday without some fucking ambien.

related: every time i shop at the Fred Meyer on Burnside, i have an inordinate amount of young re-stocking men jump to my aid. maybe it's that lost i'm-the-most-inept-grocery-shopper look in my eye. (you mean soy milk and salami don't go together?) perhaps the winded post-yoga look of exhaustion on my face. more likely the yoga pants. either way, i think i could really go for an eighteen-year-old boy. i think that would solve everything. and by everything i mean what to do in between novels.

i got my feet off the ground in my crow position tonight. i had a bad day; this felt like a triumph. a three-second triumph, but i guess that's how guys feel.