OK, feeling a little sad, holding up a sad face like so:
I'm feeling a bit precious and small and vulnerable, like a penguin in the Sahara, mainly because like this woman I'm telling stories but am not entirely sure if many people are actually listening and/or affected by them. Sometimes I pour out my guts on QueerPenguin for only a few or often no comments at a time so I wonder if it's worth continuing.
Seriously, for those few of you who might find this site even slightly interesting, please don't be afraid to leave lines to that effect. You don't even have to agree with me - I like people to challenge what I'm saying when they can argue their point well. If a man is the sum total of his memories, is a blogger the sum total of his posts? If so, please help make me become fat and bloated.
Also a bit down due to relentlessly short supply of coins, smelly, unmedicated men who scream FUCK!!!!! at me really loudly at Town Hall station and the price tag on a Dolce and Gabbana top on King St that I really *really* like. And the malevolent figure that smirked at me from my bathroom scales this morning.
I know. I should get some real problems.