Hi.
I'm here. Somewhere in between this cold and (the probable)
hyperemesis and this blissful post-John Frusciante hangover (who I swear
to God I'm marrying next and Jacob's okay with it) I'm having a hard
time typing, let alone staying upright. All energies are being poured
into just keeping everyone alive.
But all is well, really well
and I promise I'll write about it on Saturday. Going to just try and get
through the next two days without getting so dehydrated.I was abruptly informed that I am indeed NOT allowed to marry John Frusciante. Jacob is putting his foot down. I suppose he agreed with me in some sort of musical hypnosis last night somewhere between all the unwelcome pot smoke around us and the thumping beat of the Chili Peppers driving the crowd wild and of course, now all that has worn off and reality returns.
It's okay. My consolation prize (Jake) is no slouch on the guitar. Now if I could just get him to fall to his knees and do a lead like John, well, then we'll have something to work with, now, won't we?
