September 27, 2002
Cosmo's Factory
Ask me how much fun I had being wet for three hours this morning. Just ask.
So paths became puddles. And what was once a girl became a soggy excuse for a human.
I'm not at work. That should be obvious. It is practically impossible to get a ride from Jody anymore, so Mom is going to change her schedule at work to have fridays off so she can come and get me. How sad is this? I am nearly twenty and entirely too codependent.
Why? Why cars? Why driving? I hate it! But I must do it. I can't rely on everyone else anymore. It's starting to drive me mad.
You know, more than before.
My hair is bouncy. Like, cheerleader bouncy. That's not the most disturbing thing. I actually kind of like it.
So, Lola has me more than interested in Hogwarts. So I am currently writing a profile aspiring to be the Professor for the History of Magic. By the way, Lola-Dear, are you any of the characters therein? I thought maybe you might be the Librarian.
Professor Aithne Fey, twenty-two years old, from Wicklow, Ireland. What do you think?
Well, I don't care what you think. Because I'm an opinionated bitch.
In denial.
Mike should be coming to get me soon. I would love to go to a club tonight and wear the scary black velvet Shakira pants that suddenly resurfaced in the otherwise bottomless pit of a closet... but I doubt that we will venture out. Merely because we're losers. And video games and talking are so much less maintenance.
Kelsi rocks. I can't tell you why, just know that she does.
I need to publish my book. Er, I need to finish my book so I can publish it. And then, when I've published it, I can buy it and read it and critique the shit out of it. Then I can pay for school. Then I can be happy. Then I can have a reason to be smug when I wander around on campus and not care if I do poorly in Spanish, because, dammit, I am good at English.
No, I'll probably still care. Because I'm just psycho anal-retentive like that.
Aren't I fun?
Yes, I know I'm not.
I have the doctor's appointment on Tuesday. I was wondering the other day... do I think that I am capable of going through with the act merely because the fact that I can't stands in my way? Or am I really ready?
I honestly don't know. I know that I want to, even when I'm rational and he is an hour away. I want to give him that. I want to have him, for that matter.
But, I mean, really going through with it? It's still a little scary. As it should be.
I think about sex as much as any guy. I swear I do.
Anybody who has never heard Bright Eyes should download something from them. Try 'A Poetic Retelling of an Unfortunate Seduction' or 'The Calender Hung Itself.' What can I say. I have this thing for whining, desperate, quasi-melodic emo.
I'm weird.
And this is a really long entry about nothing.
Excuse me while I giggle madly without the aid of nitrous oxide.
astera at 7:59 p.m.