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Dec. 11th, 2003 11:40 amKeee-rist I feel utterly boring and uninspired. I hit a wall, I recognize that there's no "growth" in my present situation, personally or professionally. For the millionth time, I MUST move on.
I promised myself that if I went to China I could have a puppy. That's the freaking carrot. For grad school? Maybe I'll promise myself a pony. It certainly couldn't hurt.
I'm f*&king hungry. I went to Baskin Robbins and found that my frozen yogurt was not available. *grumble* As I pouted internally and eyed the sprinkles longingly, the clerk asked me how I knew the owner of the store. When I replied that I used to work there as a manager/cake decorator back in the good old days (eight years ago), the clerk said unbelievably, "Wow, you don't look THAT old. You look MUCH younger." I think this was a compliment. I think. But I'm only twenty-fucking-seven. 27. Not 40. Not 50. 27, since when did 27 qualify as old? Jaysus. This is the same mentality that has salespeople pushing eye cream to teenagers. Fuck.
Damn and hell, Julie just wrote to cancel her sleepover on Saturday. I was looking forward to a good-old-fashioned slumber party (if good old fashioned translates to getting shit-faced and not having to drive home). She has the flu. No party. Just a civilized brunch on Sunday. I'm officially devastated.
I was sort of planning on filling up my weekend with plans, plans, PLANS to keep my mind of the rather unavoidable fact that D is longer part of my life. Saturday (my one day off) brings with it a lot of contemplation, something I'd prefer to forgo these days. I want mindless fun, I don't want to think about loss and love. I still have a morning flight scheduled with Dr. S, but that's not the healthiest activity to peg a weekend on. Wish me luck on filling in the blanks.
Urgh.
I promised myself that if I went to China I could have a puppy. That's the freaking carrot. For grad school? Maybe I'll promise myself a pony. It certainly couldn't hurt.
I'm f*&king hungry. I went to Baskin Robbins and found that my frozen yogurt was not available. *grumble* As I pouted internally and eyed the sprinkles longingly, the clerk asked me how I knew the owner of the store. When I replied that I used to work there as a manager/cake decorator back in the good old days (eight years ago), the clerk said unbelievably, "Wow, you don't look THAT old. You look MUCH younger." I think this was a compliment. I think. But I'm only twenty-fucking-seven. 27. Not 40. Not 50. 27, since when did 27 qualify as old? Jaysus. This is the same mentality that has salespeople pushing eye cream to teenagers. Fuck.
Damn and hell, Julie just wrote to cancel her sleepover on Saturday. I was looking forward to a good-old-fashioned slumber party (if good old fashioned translates to getting shit-faced and not having to drive home). She has the flu. No party. Just a civilized brunch on Sunday. I'm officially devastated.
I was sort of planning on filling up my weekend with plans, plans, PLANS to keep my mind of the rather unavoidable fact that D is longer part of my life. Saturday (my one day off) brings with it a lot of contemplation, something I'd prefer to forgo these days. I want mindless fun, I don't want to think about loss and love. I still have a morning flight scheduled with Dr. S, but that's not the healthiest activity to peg a weekend on. Wish me luck on filling in the blanks.
Urgh.
