The Seventh
Hall of Fame candidates have been posted. Yours truly will finally get an induction. I know there was a petition on the internet out for years. I wonder if that had anything to do with it. I just figured they couldn't nominate me this early. It's only been about thirty some years and no one important to the creative process has died.

With news of that, Capitol has decided to release another greatest hits. That makes at least four, I think. Goddamn, an artist's age is shown by how many greatest hits albums they have and I have five? Four? Whatever number, it's unbelievable. I know forty-seven is old for rock & roll, but really? I think they released my first when I was twenty. The press only loves you when you're young. My poor baby girl.

Speaking of which, I have officially finished boxing up her room. All the little quirks that made her look like a teenager or something, I don't know. She wanted something adult, so I've given her adult. I think I'll hire someone to come in and decorate it. Lord knows I'll muck it up. She isn't even living here, so I guess, what does it matter?

Dad's 80th birthday would be next week and Mom's been calling like the crazy woman she's become in her old age to get the family together. I don't know if I want to go to dinner, talk about my deceased father and then go put flowers on his grave. Not that I don't miss and love him still, it's just depressing. We'll see if Edie wants to go. If not, I'll use her as an excuse.

Time for me to fly.