You poor things! You must be deathly bored if you have resorted to commenting on my spelling.

But who can blame you? My (lack of) love life is deathly boring these days. Have I even the remotest of remote hot action to report to you? Except for overly long hugs with ex-boyfriends, and flirtatious phone calls with long-distance cutie-pies - not a single thing. Even the setups are running away in droves.

You know what, though? I don't really care. I mean, I'm kinda lonely, yeah, and I'm kinda h*rny defintely, but I got sh*t goin' on, you dig?

Besides, as the magical pink pills dwindle , I've convinced myself that I'm suffering from yet another terminal disease (never mind which one), and while it would be nice to have someone nurse me through my wasting illness, finding blissful love now would only make a mockery of me since I have, oh, maybe six months left to live! (There is an entire section in this very interesting book devoted to why writers are so neurotic.)

Don't worry, though, I will finish the book! It is due in less than six months, so we should be fine. If worse comes to worse, I will dictate with my eyelid, as described in that amazing memoir, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Strangely, for someone with a horrible disease, I am feeling quite fine (except for the remnants of the Bird Flu I caught on the bus). Meanwhile, my friend's cat has a much funnier blog than me.