Ugh. So, in Audrey’s attempt to keep the blog from looking so… lopsided, I am given this little area of sunshine to talk about my life. Which, in all respects, is pretty fucking boring. I work a lot. I go to school (sometimes). I smoke more than my fair share of cigarettes, do more drugs than one would consider healthy, and sleep less than many insomniacs. As of right now, I’m being that domestic goddess everyone hopes for me to be: cooking dinner (lamb chop medallions, long grain brown rice with goat cheese, and artichokes), and sipping some wine.

To be honest, Audrey’s life is far more fun than mine is. I bitch about not getting laid by my bi-coastal boyfriend a lot. When I smoke too much pot, I fall asleep. Too many drinks? I puke and keep on going. (Okay, that’s a little rock star-ish. But seriously, why would anyone hang out with me if I weren’t?) I have this ridiculous tendency to over analyze everything. Good example: I can spend hours deciding what one word meant. Hours. I look at it as a badge of honor (sort of like the rehab… which I hit far before any of those ridiculous people did… see how well it worked?) but I still find myself questioning things constantly.

I am not in the mood to muse on anything right now. Give me a few hours, and a few more drinks. We’ll see how I’m feeling then.

October 22: Alright. Here’s the deal: I hate people. I wish I could say that’s an understatement, but people always seem to let me down. Maybe, in retrospect, it is only I who is letting myself down, but it still feels like shit. It always feels like shit. I spent my days waiting on people, giving them what they want, while they degrade and demean me. I work in a fucking restaurant, not a damn strip club. Stop trying to get me to sleep with you/marry you/leave my boyfriend for you. Harmless flirting is fine, and I’m willing to stoop a little for a better tip (waitressing is sort of like prostitution… more so than I’d like to admit.) but I have never, EVER gone home with a customer. It’s not that I’m classy, or that I have morals, or that I’m loyal to my significant other, though all of those things come into account as well. It’s that you are not attractive, and I don’t want to fuck you. I met my boyfriend while at a restaurant. We worked together. I had sex with him. I will not have sex with you.

Sorry. It was a bad day at work. I made my money, but it felt like it was at the expense of a bit of my dignity.

October 24: Can someone explain to me why it is that I think it’s a good idea to work full time, go to school full time, and then still go out and get shit-faced? I slack in everything I do… except for the getting shit-faced part. I’m really good at that.

I need to get laid as soon as possible. Or, you know, in about 9 days. Because that’s as soon as I can. Stupid boyfriend living across the country.

On a happier note, I spent all of 90 minutes studying for my history exam yesterday morning, and I raped the hell out of it. Sometimes procrastination really works out in my favor. The only one of us not procrastinating, Audrey, is writing a paper about yours truly. It’s pretty great.

November 12: It’s a lonely day. The roommate and I are just hanging out (I had the day off of work because I think my boss is still a bit frustrated about my whole lemon fiasco), but something feels… disconnected.

I’m so over this. I miss him.

November 14: As time passes, I feel like I should be using this stupid blog to try and learn more about myself. To gain an insight that was before unseen.

Question: Who am I writing this for?

Answer: Hell if I know.

I’ve been running that thought over and over in my head these past few sleepless hours. I have this stupid thing that I’m sending out into the world, for no reason other than boredom. But, to be honest, I have nothing to say. These blips on my radar of introspection are here solely to stroke my ego (or what’s left of it). It would be most accurate to say that, above all things, I’m tired. Exhausted, in fact. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and that’s probably a gross understatement.

Can someone explain to me why I’m up at four in the morning? No, probably not. But, listen… if you’re going to get anything from me, learn this: I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been told that I’m not the only one, and hell, you probably don’t have a clue yourself.

I just know how to pretend better.