I Am Tired
I got up at 5:30 today, I will have you know! Every once in a while I have to be at some completely unreasonable hour such as 9 a.m. The nerve! Not only does that require me getting out bed 4 hours earlier than usual so I can get a piddly amount of writing done it also requires battling traffic and other commuters on the Highway to Hell (aka Highway 520).

Dude, Take a F*cking Cough Drop
Because I am a Good Person who Cares Deeply about the world, I took the bus to work today. And of course, the one day I'm not carrying my headphones in my bag (which contains everything else I might need to survive a nuclear holocaust - including pharmaceuticals, make up, book manuscript, sheet music, laptop, cell phone, wallet, keys, and a complete printed set of Encyclopedia Brittanica) is the day I take the bus and the dude sitting next to me hacks and sniffles the whole. way. there. Through traffic. HACK. Past stunning views of Mt. Rainier in the mist presiding over a calm blue Lake Washington. SNIFFLE. Through the plastic suburban wasteland of Bellevue. COUGH! SPLUTTER! The guy probably has the Bird Flu, and now I am going to get it, all because I tried to make the world a better place!

Soon It Will All Be Over
Once my first cup of coffee wears off, my lack of sleep will start to wear on me. It will manifest itself first as a general malaise. Perhaps I will look at my uninspired outfit, thrown together at 5:30, and think eegads, could those pants you thought were sooo cool when you bought them, be any more unflattering to your butt? Could your hair be any more boring? And why don't you have more pairs of cool shoes like Carrie in Sex and the City, not to mention matching sets of lingerie?

As the afternoon drags on, a more existential type of angst will set in. Good Lord, was I put on this earth to be a corporate wage slave? I'll probably die in a plane crash before I get to be a bestselling author. Or catch a horrible disease. Hell, the horrible disease has probably already insinuated itself in my body. The Bird Flu! From the guy on the bus!

Clearly, I am destined to die before finding true, lasting, meaningful love. Is it possible I could at least have lasting, meaningful s*x before I die? Or at least hot s*x? Please? Given my boring hair, unflattering pants, and lack of sexy lingerie, not freaking likely!

That's Just Today
Last night, I was on top of the world. I thought to myself: I'm exactly the person I wanted to be when I was growing up. Not only am I about to achieve my lifelong dreams of becoming a published novelist and playing in a rock band, I am a sexy, single girl with a Sex and the City lifestyle (minus all the shoes, lingerie, and girlfriends who have time to brunch with me).

But There's Still Today
Now that I am limiting myself to a two measly cups of coffee a day, I'm not sure I'll be able to get back to my clear-eyed appreciation of life's bounty. And now, for the most petty vent of all time: Perhaps if I weren't trapped out here in the sterile strip-mall land, I could hit a nice Happy Hour in Seattle, but noooo! I am trapped on the uncool side of the lake FOR EVERY HAPPY HOUR BETWEEN NOW UNTIL THE DAY I DIE! WHICH IS PROBABLY VERY SOON GIVEN THAT I ALREADY HAVE THE BIRD FLU.

I hope you got more sleep than I did.

XO,
BB