I forgot how much it sucks to be sick. I've been having bizarre dreams. In last night's dream, I was traveling the world with two talking gorillas with whom I was having sex, my parakeets (who could also talk; I remember Cassie discussing her millet seed with me) and a man who resembled Samuel Jackson. Then we went to this island where there were all these clowns, but in the dream, all clowns were born again Christians. So the clowns kept giving me plates with slogans on them like, "I love Jesus." And I was freaking out, because clowns are scary, and born again Christians are scary. I was screaming, "I don't even believe in God! Leave me alone!" and more and more clowns/Christians kept showing up, handing me Jesus plates and taking pictures of me.

It wasn't the world's most restful night.

I have no attention span at all. I can't concentrate on anything right now. Not poetry, or movies, or books, or computer games. I haven't been working on projects. I haven't been eating. I don't feel like talking to anyone. I do everything for five minutes and then give it up. I want to read journals, but my reading list has dwindled alarmingly and nobody is updating. I like reading e-mail, but nobody has sent me any.

And I have nothing to say, really, because I've spent all my time sleeping and being bored. And I can't even concentrate long enough to make an entry cohesive. I'm going to try, though. For lack of anything better to do.

Right now, I guess the big thing on my mind is money. I opened my cell phone bill yesterday and it was almost three hundred dollars. Holy fucking hell. I have never had a cell phone bill over fifty dollars before! Apparently I talked on the phone for 922 minutes last month, and only 400 of those minutes were included in my plan.

I have no idea how I ended up talking so disproportionately much on my cell phone last month, but it seems that somehow I did. I've learned my lesson alright. No more answering my cell phone. Actually, I just changed the phone number from a Los Angeles number to a San Francisco one. So nobody can call me anyway because nobody has the number.

Now that I think of it, it was stupid of me to do this now, three days before I go to Los Angeles on a vacation. A number local to Los Angeles would have come in handy. Sigh.

So yeah. That's the situation. I am out of money after paying my cell phone bill (although I could only afford to pay half of it). I'm not working for the next couple of weeks, because I am going to Los Angeles. I have no idea how I am going to live on $100 for the next two weeks.

Fortunately, I will have my parents to feed me.

Every time I get into a financial bind where three hundred dollars would come in handy, I think of Matt, who still owes me $300. He promises to send it to me every once in a while, but never comes through. I think I have some unresolved rage over this situation. I have toyed with just publishing his e-mail address and letting all my readers spam him. You would spam him, right? Call him mean names for me? That would be funny.

I hate having this debt out there. First of all, there's a lack of closure to the whole situation. And second of all, it allows him to have some slight measure of control over my feelings. And fuck that, you know? He obviously doesn't give a shit, so why should I?

Not that I really think about him all that much. My biggest feeling about Matt these days is just disappointment. I am disappointed that he didn't care about me enough to be my friend. I gave him so many chances. I would have loved to be his friend. As it is, we went through all this shit together, had a year long relationship together, and what have I got to show for it? Nothing.

Nothing.

I think there's something to this whole concept of "put it out in the universe, and the universe will give you what you ask for." It happened with my current relationship, I think. Remember that list? I am cautiously optimistic. (She says, enigmatically, so as not to freak out the person she's currently dating.)

And this recent poetry publication-- a small but important step forward-- it happened after I wrote, in my April 13 entry:

I believe my writing is good, and it's getting better. I feel confident that I can have a poetry career, that I will be a successful poet. I've never really been confident about that in the past. But now, I am operating under the assumption that if I go past the rejection slips, keep improving my work, and don't give up, I will make it.

I put that message out in the universe, and the universe rewarded me! So, universe, let's have another chat, shall we? I made two more submissions today. I think that my poetry is good enough to be published in these magazines. Could you please make that happen for me? I'd be ever so grateful. Thanks, universe. Thanks a whole lot!