||You ever have one of those days, when you know that you want to write, but you don't have a fucking clue as to what the hell you want to write about? That's why HTML invented the UL code.
This morning my alarm didn't go off. For real. It didn't. Actually, it went off at 7:08 as I set it, but I remember sitting up, resetting it to 7:36 and then went back to sleep, assured that the alarm would go off as I had programmed it. Later, after having a weird dream about rain puddles, I awoke and looked at the alarm- it said 9:22. "OH SHIT!," I yelled, as I ran to the phone to call the office. "I'm on my way. I won't look good when I come it, but I'll be there in 30 minutes." I walk in this morning. Looking like this:
I can't get my hair to not stick up and somehow I've sprouted a third eye. Needless to say, I look like shit this morning. But I'm well rested... which balances it out.
- Take a look at this week's Austin Chronicle. That's me on the cover. Holy shit. That's pretty fucking cool, eh? It's for that Festival I was talking about about two entries ago. What kind of sucks is that I haven't even written my solo piece.... I was actually thinking of just using some of the entries that I've written here as my solo piece, but as far as actually working on it- well, that hasn't happened. So now, I have to get my ass in gear so that people won't be like, "Wow, this chick really sucks- and we thought she was going to be good because she was on the cover of the Chronicle" and all of that. Whatever. I'm not going to suck. Oh shit. I'm going to suck, aren't I?
I haven't smoked for 11 days now. Not even a drag of a cigarette. It has gotten pretty damn hard at times and I've noticed that I get really edgy at things that don't usually piss me off. For example: A bird shat on my car while I was sitting at a stop light. I almost cried I was so angry. Then, I was at a rehearsal and one of my troupe friends said something along the lines of, "Well, if Ladeeleroy wasn't such a dumbass, we'd get some of this shit done." Usually, this wouldn't upset me, because I would know that this particular individual is one of my best friends and makes me laugh all the time with his witty banter and usual jests of picking on others in a humorus, frivolous way. However, my response was, "Fuck you, asshole. Maybe if you would learn how to actually read and remember your lines, we wouldn't have to keep going back and doing this part over and over again." Whoa. And what was worse was that I actually meant it. Which is weird because I'm not bitchy like that. Another guy in the troupe said, "Hey guys- remember that Ladeeleroy hasn't had a cigarette in a week and that she has a vagina. That's a deadly combination." That helped, but I still had to retreat to the bathroom to let the large anger knot untie itself from my throat.
I have no clue who Nils is, but he signs my guestbook on a regular basis. What sucks is that this guy doesn't even have a web site that I can go to to return the support. Nonetheless, I'm glad that Nils is around. Props to you Nils. And yes, you can call me cute without admitting that you're a lesbian.
My back hurts. I'm scared it's because I haven't been drinking Milk on a regular basis and osteoperosis is all ready setting it. I'm going to go stand up and run my hip into the side of the desk to see if it breaks. Okay, it didn't break, but it hurts really bad. I need to drink more milk.
My favorite pair of Chuck Taylors will need to be put to sleep soon. The sameones that you see used above and below. It's becoming close to impossible to tie the right one because all of the eye holes have been ripped to shreds and my left one's sole isn't repelent against water anymore. It feels like I'm wearing a pair of socks when I walk in them because I can feel every pebble, toothpick, and dust ball that I step on. I'm deeply saddened by this. They've been with me for two years now and I feel almost guilty for buying a new pair- mainly because new Chuck Taylors take about three weeks to get to the comfortable, not-so-new looking state. I'm going to see how they hold up this weekend, but the Chuck Taylor Outlet maybe an item on my non-existant "Things To Do" list.
Am I old? Sometimes I think back to when I was 8 and remember thinking that 24 was old. Is 24 old? I'm turning 24 on the 20th of January and I think that I'm a little weirded out about this. 24. That's almost like 25, except not. Shit. Didn't my Life Plan specify that I was supposed to have a butler by now? Where the hell is my butler?
- I have a shit load of work to do here, but instead have wasted about an hour writing this entry. And it's a pretty crappy entry too. Fuuuuuuck it. I'll make up for it later, when I'm feeling inspired and creative. When will that be? Beats the hell out of me.