I'm Not Right.

blame the moon.

I hate everything today. I woke up grumpy and I don’t know how long I’m going to stay this way.

It’s not totally my fault. There’s a car outside that keeps going off. Every half-hour the alarm goes off for fifteen minutes. And right now I can hear some people screaming and singing outside my apartment. I don’t know where they are. They sound like they’re jumping up and down and shouting.

They all just applauded. Maybe there’s some sort of performance going on?

So, the guestbook at TLATB appears to be broken. In the meantime, you can use this one here.

I’m trying to convince myself that creating that journal with stee Friday night was a cool thing to do and not just my sad-ass-lame-non-smoking life. I mean, I was going to go to the Peaches concert, or maybe see a movie, but instead we decided to just do this thing we’d been talking about doing right then instead of later, since we have the tendency to procrastinate.

Yeah, it’s pretty sad for a Friday night. I know. But it makes me laugh.

But back to my surly, grumpy mood. I hate everything.

Oh, I don’t hate Allison’s Survivor challenge entry. That’s funny.

But I hate this morning. This morning I wanted to sleep, but from six in the morning until well after ten, there were many forces against me.

I want to add here that I am currently suffering from something that is making it hard for me to complete a sentence with proper English or grammar skills. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not right today.

I came here to talk about how I was stuck in bed with Cal this morning and couldn’t reach my alarm clock so when I wanted to hit snooze I had to pick up a pen and use it as a King Gimp pointing stick to hit the snooze button and then Cal hit it off the nightstand and I cried because I lost my King Gimp pointing stick and that just makes me sad and lazy. I had to hold my watch in the air so Cal wouldn’t try and eat it. I was sleeping with my arm in the air, with my King Gimp pointing stick just out of reach, whimpering because the car alarm was going off outside and I was never going to get any sleep.

Ray found me curled in a fetal position on the computer room couch. Once he realized this was a girlie-problem induced depression, he took off. I don’t know where he is or when he’s getting back, but he, there’s, I…

I really can’t even finish a sentence anymore. My brain isn’t working correctly today at all. What is the matter with me?

I pouted for seventy-five minutes in a row this morning. I sent off pouty email to friends, asking why they haven’t sent me enough love. I suck.

Now I think my internet connection has gone down for the sixteenth time in three days. I’m about to throw something heavy through a window.

I just want to sit in a tub and read the rest of my Harry Potter book. I haven’t read a book in forever.

What is wrong with me? I’m wearing pj’s and a do-rag.

Yesterday I had a breakdown because I spilled my coffee in the car. I spilled it all over the last clean pair of jeans I had. And then I spilled some more on my chest. I had to go out and buy a shirt to wear because I wasn’t home and I couldn’t walk around looking like a spaz. And then I went to put on my sunglasses and I poked myself in the eye. I’m so not classy and I spill everything and I’m full of rage and stress about nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I should probably give cigarettes a call and see if he’s okay. See if he needs anything. See if he misses me at all.

I don’t even want a cigarette. I just sort of miss having them. My skin is looking nicer these days. I’m just going to say that’s because of not smoking.

Here. I’m going to just try and write a sentence without editing it or going back and changing it to make it better so you can see just how bad off I am mentally today:

I had a nice thing happen this morning when I got a ride to the macdcmdonalds’ for the fries and coke but sprite bcause i don’t drink the coke and i had a doooouble cheeseburger wheich i’m not going to feel ba about because i am sitting here waiting for my perioud like i’m outside the red tent.

Clearly I’m incapable of leaving the house today. I’m also slightly dizzy every few minutes. I’m miserable, people. I’m here in my house, crying out to you. I need someone to make me laugh. Make me laugh.

I’m getting dizzy again. I think I need to not write anymore. My head. Not well. I’m not well today at all.

What is wrong with me, people?

Ugh. Blah!

I miss my King Gimp pointing stick. It totally hit the snooze button on the alarm clock for me so that I didn’t have to move to get ten minutes of extra sleep. When I had to use the remote control as a fill-in pointing stick? So not the same. Not even close. It’s bulky and can accidentally turn on the television if I’m not careful.

This is becoming embarrassing, this entry here. You’re seeing my pitiful side.

Whine. Moan. Whine. Pout. Huff. Groan. Pout.

I disgust myself. I will now go to Deilas.com and buy things I don’t need. I want everything from Delia’s. Everything.

I wonder if Ray will even come home today.

Shit. I have bills to pay. A deadline I’m about to miss. What is wrong with me?

I haven’t had a piece of The Gum in like, three days. Maybe that’s it. I’m finally becoming nicotine free.

Oh, God. What if nicotine was the only thing keeping me an intelligent, stable human being?

What if I’m normally an unstable, stupid girl and it was the drugs that made me cool?

What if I was only cool because I smoked? Why do I have this freak out every day? I don’t even want to smoke anymore. I just want to be me again. taht’s all I ask.

Oh, God. I saw a man yesterday that didn’t have a nose. That’s why I quit smoking.

I saw a woman last week that had to cart around an oxygen tank. That’s why I quit smoking.

A crusty waitress scared me with her face. I heard the change in my voice by watching a video from a few years ago. My skin has improved. I walked to the Coffee Bean and back and wasn’t even slightly winded. My allergies seem to have gone away.

I’ve had a sore throat for four weeks. I miss the smell of cigarettes. I can’t seem to handle the internet going down anymore. I’m starting to bite my nails again. I am really bad at having to wait in line. I’m tired of eating everything. I’m scaring my friends with my manic mood swings. I want to stop writing this entry. I stay up late on a Friday creating fake serial killer journals because I have to do something with my hands or I feel like I’m forgetting something. I feel like I’m forgetting something all the time.

All I want to do is not write about quitting smoking and all I have when I do that is King Gimp pointing sticks and serial killer journals.

TiVo, take me away.

The last Gilmore Girls recap of the season is up.

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