For all the slack I get from my hyper-organized, high-achieving family for being the "carefree, Type B" child, I certainly have the ability to turn myself into a tightly-wound ball of anxiety. I just wrote three separate drafts of this first paragraph and erased them all, which is something I never do in blogs-- it's supposed to be my therapy, a more thoughtful demonstration of my stream of consciousness. And yet somehow, by worrying about one silly short story for one silly class, I've caused myself to feel nervous about writing in general. Goodness. Nobody's putting pressure on me! I'm psyching myself out for no reason!
Your comments yesterday were particularly helpful; thanks to everyone who took the time to try and calm me down. You're like one collective, textual strait jacket. I think I have a better idea of what I'm going to write about now, and I've started working a little bit... so let's just hope I make it out alive. I need a stress ball or something. Or a treadmill with a burrito hanging by a string in front of it.
ANYWAY, enough of my craziness. Let's take a few minutes to pretend like I'm not insane.
I'm going on a much-needed mental vacation this weekend, driving an almost excessive distance to hang out at The Situation's house for a few days. This is a supreme idea for the following reasons: a) I'm going to start twitching like a bird on a bug-zapper if I don't back away from my computer for at least a couple hours, b) I'm excited for the opportunity to prove that I'm responsible enough to handle driving long periods of time by myself, and c) my boyfriend is really freaking awesome.
However, even though seeing the coolest guy in the entire universe is totally worth it, I'm going to be in a car for a quite some time tomorrow morning. So, like... what should I do with myself? So far, my ideas include:
--Singing the entire Rent soundtrack almost three times and "playing" a different main character for each run-through. (For example, when you're Maureen, you sit quietly for the first act, then roll down the sun roof and scream, "Joanne, which way to the stage?!")
--Listening to Half-Blood Prince on CD and seeing how much of it I can recite from memory. The only downside to this idea is that Jim Dale-- while lovely and whatnot-- gets on my nerves because he doesn't sound like the voice in my head.
--Talking to myself? One-handed shadow puppets?
Have you ever driven six hours by yourself? If you were going to, how would you entertain yourself? Suggestions would be greatly appreciated! (But if you tell me to count license plates or something, I will cut you.) (Not really!) (But maybe.)
Chipotle burritos this year: 13
Nail color: Stiiill plum, but I'm changing it tonight.