Goodbye.

I am like sooo outta here. When I started this site over a year ago, I hoped it would get me through some really tough times and help me sort out a lot of conflicting feelings I was having about my life and my purpose on the planet. I started it so I could have an outlet for all these crazy feelings I've had inside my heart and soul, so I wouldn't have to keep on throwing vodka down my throat to dull the pain of the many needles I had to shoot into whatever veins I could find that hadn't already collapsed, so I could finally float off into sweet, sweet peace, without a care in this rotten, cruel world. But it hasn't helped anything. In fact, I'm even more of an abuser than before. I'm worse off now than I ever was.

I've been lying to all of you. I don't live in a fabulous apartment in Manhattan. I don't have a DOG, a dog, or a cat. I'm not even pretty. And I most certainly don't do Pilates. Fuck. I don't even know what the hell that is, anyway.

So I'm outta here. I have nothing left to say. I ...

I ...

OK, so that's all a bunch of crap. And I make you a bet some of you believed it. "Wow," you whispered reverently, your eyes (teary) riveted to your monitor as you brought your soup can/cup to your lips (the newfangled kind that you only need one hand to operate!). "She's finally doing her dramatic goodbye. It's so sad. I think it's a cry for help! I wish she had comments on her site, so we could all plead with her to stay!"

Well ... no. I hate that.

I'm just takin' a nap, is all. After a while all that wacky working out stuff (lots of Pilates! running! weights! it's all good!) beats a girl down. So I'm going to take a nap, prettily, in my nice big Manhattan apartment. And when I wake up, I'll have a Diet Coke.

Have a stunning afternoon.

P.S. Click on the above images for better viewing. (It's just that they look better bigger.) I know I shouldn't have to say that, but, well, hey.

This time last year: Don't You Forget About Me