You used to love to watch me play, as long as I sang a song for you.

I just finished Sarah Vowell’s Take the Cannoli. Wonderful. I finished it on the train downtown today (FINALLY, that book was a birthday gift from Meredith), and promptly started on Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I’m less than half of a chapter into it, and so far have fallen heels-over-head in brain love with this guy. This book so far is just so… me. Adoration.

Had my ankle looked at earlier this week. It’s seems to be just a painful nothing. I can walk on it, I’m just to “take it easy.” I laughed at that one. I’m also on some painkillers that are giving me a speech impediment (ie-slurring) but so far so good. My doctor was REALLY cute, too. So, Dr. Joe, if you stumble on this… I’m sorry that I poked you on Facebook, I’m really not a creepo.

Okay, maybe I am. But I’m a damn cute creepo.

The semester is finally winding down. Sort of. My “six-to-eight minute” final editing piece is going to be more like “thirty to forty minutes” long. HA HA. My History of Documentary rough draft is going to be MUCH rougher than I’d like it to be, but the final is due on the 17th, and I should be able to devote nearly all of my time to it once I’m “done” editing (quotation marks indicating that I don’t think I’ll ever be happily done with this thing). I’m probably going to bomb my Media Ethics final, but that’s what I get for not having time to do the reading.

I can do this, though. The end is near, and I am positive. I’m actually in the editing labs right now. If no one has written a guide book on procrastination, I should be that girl. Except I don’t think it would ever get done.

She’s in the business of misery.

It would seem that whenever work has me down, all it takes is a little sparkly blue nail polish to pick me back up.

Dum de dum.

Beer and Diggnation? Sure.

I’m okay. I might not be okay all of the time, but I am right now and ultimately I always will be.

Thank you. I’m going to be okay.

Her Soul Will Have to Wait

Preface A: I’m drunk.

Preface B: This was an INCREDIBLY successful Thanksgiving. The food was great (props to Nick, Will, Myisha, Wendy and myself for cooking!) and everything else was SPOT-FUCKING-ON. I LOVE Nick’s friends like WHOA, and I cannot wait to move to Austin.

No more “except-for”s.

I am depressed. As stated, I am also drunk, and I’m sure that has something to a) do with it and b) to do with why this is going onto the Internet for all to read.

On the walk to the river tonight, I told Will that life doesn’t give you anything you don’t deserve. That’s not just positive. Life will never deal you a shit hand that you didn’t have coming to you.

And on that note: I don’t deserve to be loved, tolerated, lusted after or fucked. Ever. I want to hurt myself. I probably won’t even though I’ve got it coming to me. I am fat and stupid and clingy and interruptive and I want to throw myself down a well, so why don’t you? I can think of about… one… person whom it may affect for longer than a day, maybe two. I’m worthless.

… See “Preface A.”

All I needed was an answer. I didn’t ask for nothin’ more.

I gotta tell ya, life, I’m a little bit adventured-out this week. Between getting horrendously lost in Lynn, MA with Nick on Monday, to the completely terrifying level of overwhelmed I am with this semester, to spending much of this evening with my hand down the toilet… I am incredibly ready for a break. Thanksgiving will be a nice retreat, hopefully spent with plenty of good company and lots of food and drink. I just need to force myself to FOCUS on this term paper due Tuesday, and I’ll be fine. Theoretically.

Next semester, I plan on being the happiest damn bunny at the farm, though. I am taking 12 credits full of relaxing, informative, and creatively stimulating AWESOME. My very favorite video professor is returning for the first time since I took his Intro class a few semesters ago, AND he’s teaching Advanced. I’m learning how to do makeup for the stage and screen, and also being forced to renew my interest in photography. Hopefully, I’ll be able to beef up my portfolio with that one, and maybe I’ll even submit to the EVVYs this year.

I obtained the new James Taylor CD this week, along with the first two Bowling for Soup albums. This completes my BFS collection as it stands up-to-date, and probably isn’t as much of an accomplishment as I think that it is.

I need to finish decorating this room. And go read research. FIE!

Dear Everyone I went to High School With:

STOP GETTING MARRIED.

Seriously. If you’re not old enough to drink at your own wedding, maybe you’re not old enough to be having a wedding. I realize that there is NOTHING else to out there, but please, for the sake of your divorce lawyer… don’t get married.

If everyone I know in Michigan getting married leaves me feeling like I’m somehow missing out on something, I’d hate to know what I’d feel like if I had stayed there. It’s funny how moving a thousand miles away can simultaneously make me feel lightyears ahead of those I left behind, and
make me feel like I’ve completely missed the boat.

It’s an odd funk I’ve been in of late; completely unsatisfied with everything I’m a part of.

My Ever-Present Past.

I’m moving to Texas after graduation; I decided officially just a few days ago. It’s a bullshit move, though–as most of mine are. I’m not happy in Boston just like I wasn’t happy in Michigan. I moved to Boston thinking that I’d be able to start anew, that I would somehow be able to rewrite other people’s perceptions of me. I can’t. It’s not the other people with the problem, it’s me. I am a problem and no matter where I am physically, I’ll forever encounter the same attitudes, the same roadblocks.

I’m treating my unhappiness in Boston the same way I did with Michigan: Move half-way across the country and see what that does for your self-esteem. I want it to work this time, I really do. I’m just not ready to admit that I’m not so much a product of my environment. That the reason I am completely undesireable (as a friend or a lover) is completely internal. It’s not your fault you don’t want me, it’s my own fault for being such a coward. I can recognize my flaws and hate myself for them, but not enough to actually change anything, it seems.

But, yeah. I’m moving to Austin in less than a year. And I’m not entirely sure why.