Stomach pains, went to hospital, had appendix removed, hate life, nine staples in gut, vicodin makes me sick and it's wearing off, read letter I sent to Jam Magazine for update, need to lie down. congratulations John Barr for graduating from Portland State, Eric Philps for having another birthday, Perfect in Plastic for having another show that I managed to miss. Here's the letter:
6/19; 8:20AM: I'm doing okay, I stayed two nights at Providence, which is an honor considering most women who give birth get sent home after one night. Went home monday around noon. Went to Fred Meyer's and used one of those geriatric scooters to get around (I cant walk too well). The fucking thing died in like aisle 7 or something. It's not like you can call AAA and wait for a jump. You've got to sit there and wait like a goofball until someone gets a new scooter for you.
Shit, I delivered an appendix via Cesearian section. I'm in so much pain, I'm not even going to check to see if I spelled "Ceasarian" right. Oh well, the vicodin is obviously having an affect on my writing, hope everyone is doing well, talk to you kids later.
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