I no longer pity the foo.

GAH. Look at me be mentally unstable.

I had to yell (yell = be visibly pissed and not be nice and smiley) at a student already. I've only been here an hour. Student comes in with a typed paper, fine. But then he's like "yeah I have no periods or commas." A single spaced page with two paragraphs AND NO PUNCTUATION. And he was not going to pull off the ee cummings type of pretension. Did I mention he comes in and he's like "I have 20 minutes before I need to get to class"? Did I also mention that I am on my period and my pretty new microdermal itches? Did I fail to mention that he asked if he could leave his paper here and could I double space it? Guess who has two thumbs and was absolutely NOT having it? Your humble narrator.

I told him he absolutely could not.

And on top of that, his paper was supposed to be "Love is Destiny"; instead he was operating on "Love is DENSITY". Calling destiny density throughout the paper is one thing, but he opens with definitions. AND HE DEFINED DENSITY. Like, did he think more than two seconds after he cut-pasted the definition? Did he notice that "the quality or state of being dense" sounds absolutely NOTHING like "something to which a person or thing is destined" or "a predetermined course of events often held to be an irresistible power or agency"?

You bet your sweet ass he didn't.

I'm already having a god-awful hair day, its dark and raining, and I am restbroken like you wouldn't believe.

Oh, and I can't find any of my beloved red pens? There was a better part of a box here a week ago. Blame that on the heifer that elected to unnecessarily reorganize everything. Also, the other new girl that was here, lent me three CDs. I brought them on last friday so I could give them to her during the following week, but she was either not here, or I forgot to tell her they were here. I go to check on them this morning, and I notice they're gone. Either stupid new girl moved them (which was/is un to the necessary) or other new girl was at the desk and picked them up. botch scenarios are equally plausible.

I might go smoke the 1/3 pack that's left from this week's pack.

Let's hope Pandora is less of a slut today. I've played my only CD twice already.

Things that may or may not hurt.

Get me out of here. Home is out of the question.

I started looking for jobs in Chicago again. I need to make some phone calls to Americorps. I have a few questions about their positions. I'm starting to get over KVCC. It might have something to do with new girls. I feel like I would prefer Stephanie at her most insufferable. Well, on some days at the very least. Today is definitely one of them. I can't tell if it would make me feel better or worse to construct a list of grievances.

I constantly miss Matt. No doubt. But I wonder how our relationship would change once I moved back out to Chicago. Knowing that my annoying habits will rapidly can and will lose their charm. But on the other hand, I would become significantly less fat. And everyone knows weight is inversely proportionate to how much bullshit people take from you. Actually, that's not true. That's more of a bell curve. Well, more of a wave. At a certain point, you get so fat that people are scared of how fat you are and that you might sit on them, so they will put up with whatever bullshit you deem appropriate.

I digress.

Back to the original subject. Moral of the story, we'll see.

I'll be coming into a little money at the end of the week,and the local parlors are starting to do microdermal anchors. New Addiction does them for 60. I feel that's reasonable. I think they would look great with my stars, but as knee-high sock season rears its frosty head, I can only see this ending poorly. Other considered locations: collarbone(s), nape of my neck(which would look brilliant with that Chicago flag tattoo I've been lusting after), right above my ample cleavage, or maybe even my wrist. I also am years overdue for a touchup on my stars, and everyone seems to recommend I should go easy on the body bling for now. Translation? New ink! The only problem with that is, I want something that is not going to look retarded with my constantly yo-yo-ing weight, but also is easily hidden should I go on a job interview and will not look like a poor life decision should I decide to go for the big white wedding.

The South side of Chicago is not as bad as everyone says.

As I ignore Boz Scaggs and George Michael duking it out in myhead. Must be Tuesday.

I have more or less killed a pack in a glorified weekend.

Pack purchased: last friday.

Pack finished: sometime before this friday

My fingers are stained pink from my latest hair experiment. We'll see how dry and angry it gets before I have to cut it all off anyway.

I am dressed like a crazy homeless lady today. I can't say that I really care.

Reading through some of my old writing, I realize that i am not as bad as I think i am. One professor dared to even call me "impressive".

So I think I need to write again. Except I have noting to write about.

I need to get out there and live.

I need to get out there and fail. Just face my fear and fucking fail all on my own. Even though I resent challenges in the moment, I am always grateful for them later. Chicago or bust?

I may or may not come out of October with yet another body modification. I'm sensing a trend.

December 2006: 1st (and as of now, only)tattoo
August 2007: Industrial piercing
October 2008: Traigus piercing

I'm running out of time on 2009.

Maybe I'll come out of the relationship closet at Thanksgiving. I don't know why that time seems so appealing for people to do so. It seems appealing for me because that will be just around the one year mark for me and Matt.

My mother deserves to know why I'm taking off to hang out with a boy on the most holy of food days. I don't even know what's happening as far as Thanksgiving goes this year.

I guess we'll see.

Story of my fucking life.