i had to force myself to blog today. not because i don't appreciate your company my pretties, but because i am so bloody exhausted. yes, another all-nighter, yes another essay i don't have to think about ever again, (except for the scowl that will grip my face ever so fuglily when i see my low mark in a few weeks time), no i'm not on crack, yes i am still taking tyrosine, and for some strange reason, instead of decreasing appetite, i cannot stop eating chocolate. or sweet things in general. this is odd, considering the melody that is the sweet seratonin in my synapses, softly whispering pep talks so i can keep on keepin' on until the insanity that is takehomes/packing/moving/dealing with parents craziness digeh tamoom misheh. at which point i shall, godspeed, gracefully fall into a deep and serene hibernation somewhere near kaladar, only awakening to play scrabble, open delightful gifts, eat delicious french food, and lose my boyfriend in one hundred acres of forest.
the 68th national canadian university press conference won't know what to do with me. but i'm still going. i refuse to call it nash because of its obnoxious nature. similarly, i refuse to call the sociology dept soash, the visual arts department vijsh, or courtney love's cunt fish. oh no wait, that last part is right-on. rock on, then.
also, i am apparently the only idiot in the world who can't for the life of me figure out how to make this pandora player work right. you put in a few favourite bands, it plays similar songs, and you clap your hands with glee. but when i put in goldfrapp and radiohead, it keeps playing aqua and kylie songs nonstop. well you know what? what fucking ever. i guess i'm just too cool for this silly music genome business. at least, that's what my indie cred meter says. what the fuck do i care if a song is sellable in categorically plausible ways? i just need pure golden genius delivered to my ears, nothing more. and they call me picky.
ps. i'm using older kiddy or month-old self portraits until my self-cut shoddy baby bangs make sense. i'm sorry, though really you should be feeling sorry for me. yes they're that bad i don't care what anyone says. i look like an ugly, ungroomed cleopatra.
