I've sat down twice to write, but VH1 Classics is on, and my sister called me in because a Peter Murphy video was on ("All Night Long"). We sang along and agreed that we'd dance if we felt like it. Then I began to wander back in here...and Rachel said, "Hey Jenny! A Pixies video!" , so we watched that ("Monkey's gone to Heaven"). She said she's never seen them on there before.

Last night, my dad told me Mike Comstock (of Baby M--I know Sherry remembers him, probably a few other Tulsa people on my list) is dead--overdose. Probably heroin or oxycontin. I met him a couple of years ago and went camping with him and his then-girlfriend. I think that was around the time he was just starting to slip back into needle use. I'm sorry about it, but not surprised. My two best male friends (one of whom I met Mike through) both are junkies now, and part of the reason I stopped being friends with them is because I don't want to be close to them when they die. I've tried to help, but of course it didn't do any good. If it doesn't stop them when their close friends od, then...nothing will. I'd rather remember them the way they were when they were 18, before I knew I would outlive them.