What's Up With 1989?

I don't know why everyone is blogging about their lives in the year 1989. No way am I blogging about that miserable year. The only thing worse than being 25 and still working for minimum wage is being 25 while working for minimum wage and being in unrequited love. And the only thing worse than that is when the unrequited love object is a cocaine addicted aspiring musician who also worked for minimum wage but was 31 and used grammar like "I seen that" and from whom I rented a bedroom with only a thin and very non-sound-proof wall separating it from the room in which he had not infrequent mind-blowing sex with anyone but me.

All that, and I was a performance artist.

No 1989 post for you.