Every ambition is doomed to frustration

Honesty Time!

I am freaking out about Pat's benefit on Saturday. The costume is coming together so slowly that I'm unsure if it will be finished in time--and even if it is, it looks so sparse and boring that I'm not sure I'll keep it long enough for it to even bother finishing. Maybe it'll look better once I get the fringe on, I don't know. And I'm woefully, woefully underprepared to actually, you know, perform. I did some combos that I'd thought about for Desperate Guys (one of the songs I'm doing) for mckitterick and he said he thought it looked fine, but JFC, you guys, it really looked like shit.

I am so so so unhappy and stressed out about this. Want wine. Nngggggngng.

The fact that I swelled up hugely after lunch today (I have no idea) is not helping me achieve a calm mental state. I'm swollen so bad that I had to unbutton my vest. Not just loosen the back tie, no, no. I had to unbutton the whole damn thing and just leave it hanging open. Thank god I wore a skirt today.

In an effort to avoid purchasing The Boots from Amazon, I ordered these lovely things from Endless. But when they arrived, I discovered that the laces were a big fat lie and aren't functional because there's a stupid zipper underneath them. The fuck. So those are going back. Have I already talked about this? I don't even know anymore.

I saw this on the F-book 1970s bellydance group I read:

Dance like you have health insurance,
Love like you have a right to privacy, and
Work like your tax money won’t be spent on war and corporate welfare.