ah, yes... it is night.
it is late.
it is the end of yet another day where i am too tired to be entertaining.
depressing, isn't it?
a movie i recently saw (Julie & Julia, please see ASAP), impacted me deeply, but the thing i'm thinking of most right now is the not-so-subtle warning from the movie to leave your job out of your blog. and that i shall do... because i don't want any awkward conferences with my future-former boss regarding my dramatizing of the agonizing minutia i am subjected to Monday through Friday. although, this blog is not searchable under my name, nor does the good doctor know my email address, but i'd rather be safe than sorry (aka: wishing i could disappear rapidly while sitting in her comfortable, extra chairs that get no butt time whatsoever while the rest of us are sticking it out in the most unsupportive, wobbly, cheap office chairs ever). thus ends my occupational comments.
i think i am being wise.
yes, i am.
i apologize, mr./ms. anonymous, for you have anxiously demanded the nature of my whereabouts for the past 2 weeks... and here i am, too exhausted to be interesting. i will say, in my defense, i have been cleaning, dieting (that should explain everything), planning a martini party and having a nervous breakdown while in the meantime making things dirty, gaining weight and pushing the preparations for the aforementioned martini party farther down on my List of Things to Procrastinate (the nervous breakdown has no antithesis). at this time, kindly picture me in a room of millions of messy piles of books, papers and bits of sentimental nonsense i don't have the stamina to discard, in yet another rickety office chair, an old chenille blankie (yes, blankie) draped over my shoulders, eyelids drooping in a frighteningly, middle-aged way. i am tired and disorganized.... which makes me more tired. and less motivated to pull my talents together and make something of myself ("somebody call the waaaambulance"- The Kid). this, my friends, is what separates the men from the boys, the go-getters from the couch potatoes, the graduates from the drop-outs.... for i am sure that those people who grow up to become financially stable, recognized in their communities, those frustratingly devoted spouses and disciplined parents are the people who get past the hum-drums to pick up the dirty socks, wash the dishes and bake blueberry muffins. the ridiculous part of it all is that writers know how to sound good but, in reality, are not good. nope. just good at talking about it. i probably seem like a promising, bright individual, but the sad truth is i am not. not right now. not when it is dark outside, and the alarm clock is threatening to ring before i am ready (as if it ever takes a break).
11pm must be the hour of self-deprecation and imbalance... i just can't open my eyes wide enough to be positive.
and it's only Monday.
hollaback, sympathizers. i may return the favor.
not yours, not truly,