Agent N

Naked Lunch (film)

I’m lying in bed, bundled up like an Eskimo baby, popping vitamin C like popcorn. I was bored so I erased the word “fucking” from yesterday’s entry, so I could relocate it here. I have a tight budget for naughty words. Why? ‘Cause I’m a motherf*#in’ lady.

I’ve been thinking about this girl I knew once… She was in one of my writing classes in college. And while we’re on the subject of bad words, she was the cutest lil potty-mouth I’ve ever met. All her stories were about masturbation, introverted sexual exploits, dirty dirty things. Always a pleasure to read.

I wish I could remember her name. If I hadn’t been going through one of my lonely martyr phases, I think we could have been best friends. I wonder if she’s changed, if she’s a mom now. Maybe she became a badass novelist. Maybe she trains horses. I wonder if she likes waffles. I like waffles. The only thing I really remember about her is that Naked Lunch was her favorite book. Until I know more, I’ll refer to her as Agent N.

So here’s to Agent N and all the clever potty-mouth women of the world. Thanks for all your filthy wisdom, and your cool vision. If you’re listening, please send your good vibes so I can be healthy enough to raise a glass to you tonight. The last day of the year starts at midnight. The clock ticks. Please hurry.

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