Stuff, Britney, the perfidy of life

Once again my tepid yet undeniable genius is denied a viewing audience! Alas, to be me.

I am not in the greatest of moods, being very anxious and unable, at present, to work on the formatting of my book. But self-centered yet oh so charming bastards such as myself do crave our creative outlets, oh yes we do. So here I am, musing on such important topics as the baldness of Britney and why America cares so much about these idiotic celebrities. I guess it's pure escape. In the meantime, I swill down chamomile tea like there's no tomorrow, as I recently read that Xanax is more addictive than HEROIN. You read that right, kiddies! Thus I will probably pop some again in, say, August, when I'm having a truly bad day from hell. I do not wish to end up like Anna Nicole Smith, although it's nice to think her hangers-on -- er, loved ones -- will be financially sound for all eternity. They're all set, people, is what I'm saying.

This is a week full of things, namely my mysterious volunteer work with an organization that does not allow me to speak about its work (i.e., The Good Samaritans). I am also celebrating my 35th birthday, which makes me feel as though someone should finally put me out of my fucking misery. If you asked me if my life would be like this, namely living in my parents' house, being stone-cold broke and recovering from a serious depression, I would have told you to fly a kite. The good thing is that my life is getting back on track. I am formatting my book, I am applying to graduate school, and I worked a seasonal job that allowed me to lift myself out of the doldrums. I am hopeful of a permanent job soon, and am working harder to establish myself in this regard, although those who have suffered from serious depressions know how hard it is to feel motivated to do absolutely fricking ANYTHING. Any small result is a good one, however! I also continue to beat back the recycling co-dependent blues (see: Melodie Beattie) with a giant stick, dipped in plenty of chocolate and laced with free DVD's from the library. How I love the library. If only my parents were not psychopaths! If only it really did rain men! If only my dog was still alive! You can see I'm having a year.

That being said I caved when my mother asked me if I wanted to do a birthday lunch. Initially I resisted and then, like the guilty sap that I am, told her it would be fine so long as it did not FALL on my birthday. I also admit that this was motivated by the prospect of obtaining a decent meal and of having something constructive to do. The less I am in the house, the better. Still, I feel like I failed the "set a boundary" thingie that all the self-help books exhort you, ad nauseum, to do, and caved into the guilt bullshit. The guilt and fear and need for approval emblazoned with a big ol'pot of ink onto our susceptible little souls. Someday that ink will be invisible, though. It's all I can hope for.

There are some auditions I am pondering attending tonight, just for the sheer hell of it. It could be fun, is what I'm saying here, folks. Unfortunately I have no real way to attend rehearsals if they actually chose me to work in their production. But maybe I could paint sets or something. The theater is a fun, if demanding, world, and my forays into said world have always been productively fruitful and interesting. Even inspiring.

I must go, my dear ones. How serious I have been. Think: Bick! And be glad you're not a Britney. Thus endeth my mixed message for today.

Be ye well.