In Which I Forget to Buy Cigarettes in Michigan

I got cut another day this week, which brings my hours worked this week to a whopping 21.

I've been applying elsewhere. Cover letters are still terrifying.

My mom knows about my living situation and Sandy's not doing well. Those things are not related.

I've been in a downward spiral as of late, job stuff, boy stuff, me stuff.

Everybody seems to recommend that I get back into fashion. I'm not opposed to this. I'm lookng into an associate's program. Matt recommended that I write about fashion, but that notion bores me. I can swoon over silk, and gag taffeta, but for me fashion is an indulgence of the physical senses, not the mental ones. Besides, all fashion writing is either chicklit24/7, or shoptalk for magazines. I have no desire to start the rock n roll fashion novel genre.

Is it bad that even my engagement ring can come from Target?

Can cover letters double as lit magazine submissions?

In Which I Channel The Lyrical Beastliness of Childish Gambino and Nicki Minaj...For Cover Letters

I have a few leads on jobs that I might love, or at the very least not shaft me on my version of the American Dream.

leads:

1. Red Frog (event planning intern)
2. Museum of Science and Industry (materials assistant)
3. 1800 Flowers (I shit you not, its a work from home position to boot)

As far as my loathing of life outside the bed goes, I have come to the realization that I enjoy leaving the house, even if it is for just a few hours.

Museum studies will get me job offers of every variety, right?

Since I was scared, or stupid or both, I did not apply for grad school. I'm thinking about certificates. I can get a certificate in museum studies, get a job in a major museum and chain smoke wearing cats eye framed glasses and the tightest pencil skirts money can buy.

My cover letters might become things along the lines of profane declarations of my prowress as a writer and actress.

No those are not requrements of the position.

I have a headache because I didn't take my medicine today.

I've been sent home early from work so many times my original schedule seems like a distant memory.

I have plans for reds and blonds. I can make that look all job friendly, right?

My plans are grander than biscuits.

In Which A Shower Makes Makes Me Clean, But Not Better

I'm being talked about in the other room. I knew this. I showered, hoping to clean up as well as kill the time and ignore that this was going on. I returned, cleaner, but still the hot topic. The next best thing would be to escape out the door, overpricedd cigarettes in hand, but both ways out would be through the verbal shooting lines. I'm not listening to music because that is overt ostritch behavior. The next best thing is to fill everyone in on the situation because the typing of the keys is just quiet enough to not draw any attention to where I am but is just loud enough to mute the voices.

I have to be up in the morning but I am so tense and anxious, I assure you that I am not going to bed anytime soon.

I don't like being a problem when I didn't set out to be one.

I stopped typing. I have a perverse obsession with control and eavesdropping. I was interested in knowing what was happening, now I am back to literate ostritch style moves. The silent ambiance is important as anything esle right now. I feel sick. I am cold. There is only one thing i can fix.

Nothing left to say at the moment....perhaps I shall catch up on all the reading I've fallen behind on.

All this time and I still haven't finished The Great Gatsby.

Maybe I'll cut my nails.

Maybe I'll reset the clock.