[what follows is perhaps the funniest part of the journal. distraught over a kurt cobain tribute on mtv, i *gasp* smoke a cigarette! what a rebel i was!]
May 15, 1994
Well, Bridgett and I made up from that.
I'm a fucking mess right now. They're having this MTV Nirvana tribute. Kurt. I feel as bad as I did the day I heard he'd shot himself. I just stole a cigarette from Dad, he'll probably notice, so fucking what. I smoked it, inhaled the hell out of it, and got so buzzed I couldn't stand. And my whole face and neck were-- are-- soaked with sweat. It was a distraction, though. I swear though I thought I'd puke. At least vomiting would keep my weight down ha ha fuck ha. Just kidding, you fucks. I'm not fucking bulimic or anything. Poor Kurt.
I'll concentrate on the one little fragment of good news. Last night I spent the night at Katie's and this morning she pierced my ankle. It is