TWENTY// aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
and nothing seems appropriate. So I give up. But then I feel guilty for NOT writing, even if it would have been crap anyway, so I start searching for at least a good picture that I could post instead of writing something intelligent or interesting, but after about 3 minutes get sidetracked and end up on Facebook. Or reading certain other people's blogs that are effortlessly eloquent and smart and witty. And then I sink into a mire of hopelessness and pick at my fingernails until I have to cut them off, and then I go to bed.
Or usually I don't even go to bed, but spend the next 5 hours reading and re-reading those certain witty writers or watching Gilmore Girls and despairing at my utter lack of wit. By then I'm so tired that I've lost all sense of responsibility and/or desire to live, so I spend another hour whinging to Beth about how much I effing eff efff eff blah blah blah hate life and am stressed out about my senior show, to which she responds, I know, and we utter deep, heart wrenching sighs and fall into bed in a miserable dazed stupor.
What a life.
In short what I'm saying is, I am extremely irresponsible and actually complain more than I work, which is why I end up being so stressed out and agitated all the time.
Anyway, I wish this dress wasn't $40 or I would buy it for my show opening:
Maybe I'll buy it anyway (with my tax refund which I just got today (!!!!)), which is what I usually end up doing when I'm stressed out. (Only to feel extremely guilty about it the next day and probably return it.) Maybe not. I don't know.
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