In Which Nobody Needs To Know I'm Feeling Higher And Higher

Sometimes I quit smoking . Sometimes I start back up again.

Sometimes I drive to Chicago. Sometimes I drive back again.

Sometimes I blame it on the rain. Torrential downpours at night in a 10 year old car are not my forte. It's my boyfriend's fault. I blame it on love.

It's weird to think that I'll be going to grad school in the fall. It's also weird to think that I'm paying on student loans. Let's compound that with the fact that I'm probably going to move in with Matt when I go.

It doesn't seem real to me. That might be a coping mechanism though. I either obsess to the point of anxiety, or I ignore it until it refuses to be set aside. Either way, I hyperventilate. I got the following text at 1:17 this morning (EDT): "Side note, when are you mentioning to your mom your plans to move with me into Chicago?" The wording's not perfect but the idea is clear.

I have yet to respond.

I keep trying to reconcile this whole moving thing with this whole conservative mother thing and I only keep coming up with a sitcom/bad ABC Family/Lifetime movie thing: "fake" engagement. That'll at least legitimize things somewhat with my mother, and that'll at least pacify me from going full blown Beyonce on a motherfucker. We'll run this by him and see how it goes, minus the Beyonce part.

I know I keep saying that, but the objective is to actually mean it one day.

Work is work. I am in full blown don't give a fuck mode, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to quit when the money does. After this week, I'll be just shy of halfway done with my hours. I don't think this money's going to pan out. I cry/panic about this once a week. Five thousand dollars is way too much money to walk away from, especially for an aspiring academic. But there's gotta be some kind of appeal process or something, right? I can't be that screwed yet, right?

Right?

Rage aginst the inefficient machine.

In other news, I have got to be hireable. Here's why: I just saw a job posting from Northwestern (my academic hard-on of choice as of late) for a job dealing with (not making this part up, either)..."Post-Bachelorette Studies". I assume they meant "baccalaureate". Seriously. I read another letter this morning, sent to my school by McDonald's. Two glaring errors and I realized I had no desire whatsoever to work with them. The bitchy lady on the phone didn't help things either. Did I mention this was at the corporate level?

This was at the corporate level.

I really need to get this writing sample party going. So I can submit my application then panic and obsess and panic and obsess.

And its only noon.

In Which Time Gets Away From Me Sometimes

Its always fun to worry.

I'm pretending to work, and I assure you that I am not as lazy as my posts seem to indicate. My laptop (on loan from my mom) has taken a shit on me, which puts me back with Dr. Strangelove, my beeping timebomb of a Franken-laptop. This means typing and thought more complete and comprehensive than "lol" is more work than it should be.

So here I am, at work, faking the funk until I leave for lunch and or my boss gets here.

I checked out of this job quite a piece ago, but shit, I need the money and the benefits and the letters of rec I ought to squeeze out of every person I have ever worked with. Well, almost every person I have worked with. Something's better than nothing at all.

Things are kind of looking up, as far as some other things go, mostly wedding related.

My boyfriend confuses me. I'll go into detail soon enough, mostly when I get another time to breathe and eat.

I went to see The Suicide Machines on Saturday. I met a million people, got hit on twice and even saw somebody I knew. Those are my favorite kind of nights, full of unexpected diva status (the good kind).

And on that note, I'm getting into some sun.