Obsessive, intense, bed-ridden bitch

Yes, I do. I really, really do. She's so smart, so pretty, so creative, so adorable, and she has this great unidentifiable accent. And her big sis is Emily.

I wish I were Zooey.

Her, more than myself, especially right now that I'm feeling utterly miserable with this virus that's ravaging my throat and chest. I am bed-ridden and inconsololable, full of self-pity. I call out with loud, dry, hallow coughing. My life looks like a dead end from this view, on a pillow, under a blanket.

I haven't been able to write anything in my other blog, so I'm starting this new one. It seems to easy to obsess over a person, especially a minor celebrity whose life and movements are documented on the Web. What else can a fan ask for?

Do I want to meet Zooey! Of course, but I don't think she would want to meet me - an obsessive, intense, bed-ridden bitch.

With my other blog, I did obsess with someone, an old long-lost (always lost) best friend, for years. Since I've let her go, let the memory and feelings go, the desperation, I have been floating around this past year, in a half-sober daze.

Perhaps this is a way of moving on, moving forward. Or not. Either way, it is a change and another excuse to blog and bare myself.

Be my witness.