The day started out pretty poorly.  I couldn’t sleep last night because it was so ghastly hot in my apartment (over 80 degrees), so when I was rudely awoken by Neil Diamond blasting out of my clockradio at 8:30am, I was not only disoriented because I had no fucking idea why Indie 103 was playing “Sweet Caroline,” but also because I’d only gotten 4 hours of sleep.  And then I failed to reach that delicate balance of caffeine and food in my system, so I was overcaffeinated and dangerously twitchy for a good portion of the day.

Thankfully, things ended very, very well.  An old friend and I went out for our annual tarot card reading, and the reader was dead on—almost scary in some ways.  And even though I don’t put much faith in that kind of thing, it actually helped me stop worrying about a few things coming down the pike in my general direction.  Besides, who can’t have a good time when you’re with good company, running all over Los Angeles to do random things like roast S’mores at the Saddle Ranch (Ed. note: The S’mores at Luna Park are way better, but you don’t get to roast your marshmallows over a fire pit there) and get serenaded by a couple of guys trying desperately to do a medley of songs by The Cult using only an acoustic guitar and a violin, and then doing the Pee-Wee Herman dance in the car on the way back home.  Hysterical laughter cleanses the soul, and no—there was no alcohol in my system at any time during the course of the night.

However, there will be utter and total collapse soon, since I’m dead tired.  Wheeeeeeeee.