Hard-drive wiped. All fledgling stories, newish pictures, and some screenwriting GONE.
It's finals week. I cannot eat right. I am gaining. My grades for certain classes for once in my life may not be so good. I am so disapointed in myself.
Birthday. Pack. Accept offerings and sacrifices from the professors and student body. Make them bow to me.
Have cake. Maybe a cosmopolitan.
I'm not looking forward to my birthday this year. Well, it's been like this the past three years. I think after 25 I'm going to stop acknowledging it. It's cause for more depression than joy, and on top of that very little celebration can top what I've already had.
i am so frustrated with life.
so frustrated with me.
Thanksgiving was mostly fun. Saturday was bad. I can appreciate Maureen's boyfriend as my own friend, now, though, so at least something good came out of it. i shall write a story about it one day.
I'm really liking Raymond Carver's stories right now. I think I'll go and read them now. That will be nice.