Kylie

I can’t believe it. I’m sitting down, and all these songs are rolling through me. It’s as if this musical constipation has turned into diarrhea and they’re pouring out of me.

“What are you doing?” Noah asks as he starts to grope my tits. I look down, and Richard’s on his bouncy chair—a gift from Terrance, who has become obsessed with spoiling him ever since he got the paternity results. The whole house looks like a nursery. There isn’t a toy or baby stuff not occupying one part of the house. It’s sweet watching him fuss over someone else apart from himself.

Luckily, Noah has a piano, which he said that he bought with me in mind. He felt that his home had to have one to have a piece of me. That felt kind of sweet, knowing that when he bought this place and decorated it, he was thinking of me.

I don’t know what it is because everything’s clicking like crazy. We go for walks every day, and I submitted a couple of recordings to my manager—my official manager—who said that he would forw