I just watched Jeff Goldblum give a single-shot rant to an imaginary wife while he wagged a gun at the sofa for about 4 minutes in full on, like, Lifetime. Jeff Goldblum, whither did you go?

Currently Reading Watership Down By Richard Adams see related

Work is just like school. I sit at the computer, at home, pretending to be thinking of what to write, when in fact I'm surfing the web, finding things to read and keeping up with my nigh-immediate correspondences. And all I really want to do is go to the beach and forget about the scholarships I should be applying for and the work I should be doing, and even, perhaps, sometimes, occasionally, the people's calls I should be returning.

I want to go to the beach, I said.

Sexual Harassment in the Workplace 101: "Well you can't, Lara. Because you gotta come do me. If you know what I mean." *grabs crotch*

Portable Ladder Safety: "And eventually, you do have to manage more than two sentences on why I'm a valuable course. Don't look at me like that. AND KEEP BOTH FEET ON THE RUNGS, FOR CHRISSAKES!!!"

Communicating with the Hearing-Impaired: "You want whom to get impeached? WHAT?"

Cate??

WHAT HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!

This is distressing. Cate, you have, like, bruises on your ... front arm/chest... things. You look like a battered housewife, and as hilarious as that might have been on, say, Amy Sedaris, you're just looking waaaaay too aging-Vegas-coke-wife fabulous. I mean, some really sad actresses have to show up at premieres dressed for some role they're vying for because they know they can't win it in the audition room -- but you are probably the most acclaimed screen actress of your generation. Therefore, although this is a Costume Gala, you are not supposed to show up in costume as anything less than your pristine, healthy and happily-married self. Besides, it's the MET, for Christ's sake. Now go take a vacation or something. And no eyeliner or hairspray for a week.

Hhhhh. You think you know a person.

Goldsmiths loves me and wants us to be together.

Tomorrow I have the final for the last science or math class I will ever have to take. I also have a final paper due for said class. I have been sitting in front of the computer for 2 hours, and have not written a word or studied a single term. One more day, Lara. Not even 24 hours. JUST DO IT.

I just... I JUST CAAAAHAHAHAAAAAAAN'T! Stop crying. Stop crying. Write about global warming. WRITE. THE ESSAY. LARA.

I must have felt this stressed in high school all the time, because I wrote in xanga regularly then. When you are facing despair, and you're staring at a computer screen, dreading tomorrow, Facebook just doesn't cut it anymore.

I should have gone to an acting school. That seems clear.

Oh, and I quit my "YOU ARE NOT A TELEMARKETER! YOU ARE A GODDAMN FUNDRAISER! NOW FOLLOW THE SCRIPT!" job. It had successfully sucked 1/3 of my soul from me forever, so I'm glad I got out when I did. When I took the resignation form into my boss's office, he took it from my hands, threw it into his garbage can, and said "see you at work." So I slapped him.

Am waiting for the "wow, you're really amazing, yes we'd love to send you to England" phone call from Arcadia's Goldsmiths College program. It should be tomorrow or the next day... then I'll just have to wait for the actual acceptance letter. I WILL be accepted. I am GOING to England. England WILL LOVE ME FOREVER. AND WE WILL HAVE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN TOGETHER. GODDAMNIT.

On another note, I feel like writing a MONGOLS vs. FRANKS paper is utterly pointless. I mean, of course the Mongols win. The Mongols always win. They don't even take prisoners.

It feels weird to be writing in my xanga.