Where does that SNOT come from and where does it go?

I haven't written anything in the journal for quite awhile, and I was thinking of just chucking the whole thing, but I recently was able to get ahold of some mood stabilization medication as a special side offer from my crack dealer, and that's been working really well, actually. I'm not so ANGRY anymore, or at least I don't care that I am. I'm too tired to be angry at the things I used to be angry about, and too busy concentrating on not throwing up to be able to spend time and energy complaining about cultural stupidity!

Well... I was just out in Portland for awhile. It's not easy being bi-coastal, or bi-anything for that matter. I'm talking about Portland, Oregon, and Milwaukee, where I am now. Milwaukee is on the coast of Lake Michigan, and if you don't think of the coast of one of the Great Lakes as a coast, well then, you're just a geography snob, and fuck you. The good thing about being out in Portland is the cheap drugs and the optimism. The bad thing is that they don't have the internet out there yet, so that's why I haven't been able to update this.

I was trying to go out to breakfast at some kind of a brunch or breakfast buffet this Sunday morning, since I've gotten so thin it makes me sick, though not as much as the men who like thin women. I love those buffets that have salty scrambled eggs with ham chunks, and really dry pancakes, and burnt waffles, and greasy link sausage, and barely cooked bacon, and unripe melon chunks that taste like meat, and hardened gravy with grey sausage, and greasy homefries, burnt on the bottom. But you can't find that kind of buffet in Milwaukee, it's all champagne brunch with smoked salmon and crepes and shit like that. I called Pieces of Eight to ask how much their brunch was and some snotty asshole answered the phone and said some absurd price like $23.95. Now come on! Just make it $25 (or be really absurd and make it 24 dollars and fourteen cents or something). No one can afford that kind of brunch except for the over-eaters or people being taken out by their rich grandmothers, anyway. You're right, snotty asshole on the phone at Pieces of Eight, I can't afford that, I don't care about your view of the art museum wings, or the concrete grey sky over Lake Michigan, or "fresh squeezed" orange juice. Where's my Capn' Crunch and my pills?