I watched �A Wrinkle In Time� last night because it�s up there in the list of books I�ve read the most. I knew I shouldn�t have watched it, not only because it�s one of my favorite books of all time, but because I need to have some serious quiet time with myself.
But I watched it, and man � could they have made that movie any creepier? I hadn�t noticed the sun had gone down and the lights were off and all of a sudden I�m curled up into a tight ball on one side of the couch (while the dog took up the rest of it and continued to scootch me over throughout the evening) with a red afghan over me and I keep thinking I�m seeing swirly things that are trying to attack me.
Once I ran over and turned on the lights, I started thinking the things you always think when you watch a movie based on something else: �That�s not what Aunt Beast looks like! Aunt Beast is not a wookie!�
So I woke up at 6:30am this morning after a night full of ridiculous dreams involving Esp and poison oak (because Esp was over last night taking care of the dog and because my lips were exploding into a giant allergy-ridden larvae-esque state when I was trying to fall asleep) and decided that I could wait a half an hour before preparing for the day. Imagine my surprise when the next time I woke up was at 7:57am�and I usually catch the bus at 7:40am. I had neglected to take your advice (save for the pantyhose I�d stashed in my desk), so I ran around frantically grabbing the first dress I could find (the one whose belt is missing), the first shoes I could find (the ones that destroyed my feet yesterday), squeezed some toothpaste into my mouth, grabbed a soda and a bagel, looked out the window to see the bus flying down the street (as opposed to the crawling it does when I�m ready and waiting for it � that sounds bizarrely sexual), ran down seven flights of stairs in my blister-causing flats, sprinted the half a block to the bus and waved the bus driver down before he pulled into the intersection.
It was all very dramatic and physically and emotionally exhausting.
But I made it to work on time, albeit with hair in peaks and horns, still-puffy lips, and circles under my eyes that resemble an eclipse.
And this is what I�ve been writing the past few days and I�m going to post it before someone else interrupts me:
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I�m feeling terrifically worthless these days, and that really hinders one�s desire to publish one�s own thoughts.
I want to cry all the time
And I have to pretend like everything�s ok. I don�t know quite why; it�s a compulsion. I don�t feel like anyone else can handle my bad day, so I�ll just deal with it, and everybody else�s problems.
Which, of course, will result in my inability to deal with anything at all.
I wake up tired, I work tired, I go to bed tired, I look tired, I feel tired, I am tired.
I don�t do anything besides work, but forty hours of my week are spent being a slave for nine people. When they want me to do something, they�ll tell me half of it � �print this out� � without telling me what the hell to do with it once it�s printed. So I give it to them and it eventually makes its way back to me to be collated. I collate and send it back. A few hours later, it comes back to me to be three-hole punched. This continues until I end up spending a week doing what I could have done in a day had they just told me what they wanted in the first place.
Far be it for me to assume they know what they�re talking about.
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So, I�m going to Redding on Saturday because Sam and some other guy need a ride home for the summer. It�s going to be like our own five-hour long college connections reunion! Because we all know how much I loved college connections*! At least I�ll have the dog with me, and if anyone pisses me off, I can be all like, �Damien, attack!� and his puzzled stare will be too much cute for one person to handle and therefore they will explode.
Also, I saw a freshly squished pigeon while crossing the street this morning. Isn't that good luck or something? Let's pretend it is. Also, have I discussed my theory on the idea that it's good luck to get pooped on by a bird? Of course everything's going to seem a lot better after that experience; you've just been shat upon, how much worse could it get? It's called logic, people. Learn it. Live it. Do it.
*Answer: not a lot.
one year ago today: nothing. two years ago today: �how unentertaining is this entry? very.� and �at madeira, i was super-confident blunt girl. in redding, i was super-pissed, super-sad go-away girl. here, i am super-random, makes-no-sense, what-the-fuck-is-she-doing-now girl. yeah, i think it's about time i was i-am-cute-you-are-cute-and-we-should-fuck girl.� and � look at me! i am such a sexpot! yay me! woo hoo!� three years ago today: nothing.